
Class '^iiill 
Book, *A a ^S 



Copyright^ 



i ^oa* 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 




Hen~ky -j. McKay. 



THE 



POETICAL WORKS 



OF 






HENRY J. McKAY 



How weak we are ! Still grandeur lurks 
Within our rounded, flesh-made walls ; 

There is a power there that works 
Immortal shapes in brainy halls. 



WATTSATJ PILOT PHLNT. 
WAXJSATJ, WIS. 






THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

Two Cowes Received 

JUN. 13 1902 

Copyright entry 

CLASS ^XXc. No. 

COPY B. 



COPYRIGHTED bt 

HENRY J. McKAY, 

1902. 



Yve^&ce. 



This book of poems is the result of several years of 
intermittent glimpses at the wonders and beauties of 
nature, lying- at our own doors, and of the strivings of 
the spirit within the writer as he felt their influence upon 
his thought and life. Wausau is truly a city beautiful 
for situation, with a chain of blue-coated hills surround- 
ing it, while down through the broad valley in which it 
lies, the sparkling waters of the pretty Wisconsin River 
flow, cutting the city in twain, and reaching their climax 
of beauty at Big Bull Falls. Southward the river still 
winds its way, lapping the forest fringe at the bases of 
Rib and Mosinee hills, and receiving into its heaving 
bosom the Big Rib and Eau Claire rivers. Beauty is to be 
found everywhere, and the hand of the Creator has truly 
traced the beautiful upon our hills and in our valleys. 

In the busy years of pioneer settlement, there was 
little time for poetical inspiration, and it was left to the 
pen of a later generation to describe the scenes which re- 
main in one's memory as pleasing remembrances. The 
author hopes that his efforts may now quicken others to 
more deeply appreciate our beautiful surroundings. 

Wausau, Wis., March 24, 1902. 



Ccm\ew\s. 



PAGE. 

Jones' Asylum Visit I 

Farmer Stebbins' Complaint .<*. 3 

When the Trolley Car Goes By ][[[ 5 

The Grumbling Thought's Escape 6 

Not One Comes Back § 

The Time of the Pioneer 10 

Mississippi's Bride 15 

Rib Hill 17 

Looking Westward From Rib Hill 20 

Mosinee Hill and Vicinity 21 

Lover's Lane 29 

The Big Rib River [[ 31 

Rothchilds on the Wisconse 33 

An Autumn Eve on the Wisconsin 35 

The Five Mile Dam 36 

The Spring at Cole's Slough 38 

Marshall Hill 39 

Jim Moore's Spriug 49 

She Used to Roam the Deer Trail Through the Wood 44 

A Picture Without a Frame 45 

The Dells of the Eau Claire 47 

The Dells of the Wisconsin 53 

The Country 56 

'Tis Wonderful, This Love 58 

The Coals 59 

O Sing Me a Song With a Rhythmical Swing 61 

There is Music in Words 62 

Unwritten Thoughts 63 

Autumn 65 

April 67 

Build Up, O Youth 69 

Mind , .. 71 

Thy Talent 72 

Opportunities 74 



A Prayer 75 

We Know 76 

There is a Bond 70 

Ancestry 77 

The New Church 77 

A Message From Hans Spoopendike, of Poniatowski 81 

When One is All Alone 84 

That Dear Word 85 

A Drop in a Bucket 86 

Moonlight on Lake Michigan, Between Chicago and 

Milwaukee 87 

The Johnson Family at the Fair 89 

Bill Curdy's Toothache 95 

Pants 97 

Memory's Past 98 

There W"as a Hot Time in Madrid That Night 99 

The Yankee Pig 101 

Pll Take My Ships and I'll Go Right Home 102 

The Naval Battle of Santiago 103 

If Cervera Were Camara 104 

Hip-Hip-Hurrah For the Members of Co. G 105 

The Poet's Vision 106 

A View of Asylum Inmates .. 107 

John Keats 107 

Ask the Raven 108 

A Busy Mind's Alternative 108 

To a Friend 108 

Friends Must Part 109 

Solitude 109 

Under the Cross 110 

A Sweet Girl Graduate Ill 

Several Simpering Simpletons Ill 

The Past 115 

The Weeping Mother 118 

Do You Often Stop to Think, Apart, Alone 116 

Away, Young Men, With Meaner Things 117 

Where Heroes Lie 118 

Wm. McKinley 119 

The Origin of Thought 12] 

The Cloud 127 

They Make a Book ;. . . [og 

It Is Nature's Way 128 



JONES 1 ASYLUM VISIT. 

A key was turned, and the door swung back, 

Oh, horrors, what a sight! 
The maniac's face, all agrin with grimace, 

Showed a being's horrible plight. 
Jones tried to still, by the might of his will, 

His fear of the insane ; 
His blood turned cold, and he tried to hold 

His nerves, but all in vain. 

He turned and fled ; with a desperate leap 

He cleared the twelve-foot hall, 
And then in haste down, down he raced 

To the window in the wall. 
The maniac broke from his den with a rush 

And followed after Jones ; 
The guide, knocked low by a stunning blow, 
* Gave forth deep, painful groans. 

Jones waited not ; with a mighty leap 

He burst the window through ; 
He struck the ground with a splitting sound, 

And the maniac did, too. 
Jones, on his feet in an instant, ran 

Across the asylum grounds, 
While close in his rear he could plainly hear 

The maniac's awful bounds. 

A large stone-wall in the distance loomed, 

It was quite ten feet high ; 
With face aghast, Jones reached at last 

Its base, and leaped,— A cry ! 
He clutched its top with his outstretched hands. 

When the maniac caught his knee. 
Poor Jones ! Alack !— Said the maniac, 

"Your tag ; now you catch me." 



FARMER STUBBIXS' COMPLAIXT. 



*5aTmeT StaWuvs' Com\s\aVb\. 



"Have you any idee, neighbor, 

What I'd better up an do 
With the teacher I'm a boardin'? 

He's a troublin' me anew. 

"This here deestrict never see one 
Thet was quite so spry an' pert 

Ez this city-bred young- feller, 
Full o' brains an' full o' work. 

"But he's alius up to somethin' — 
Nothin' 'gin him though, I s'pose — 

He is alius a examinin' 
Somethin' near his tender nose. 

"He is lookin' in the sugar, 
Findin' bugs an' crawlin' things; 

An' the water, w'y 'tis brimmin' 

Full o' snakes what crawls and stings. 

"An' the vin'gar, simply orful, 

Is thet full o' racin' worms 
Thet, no sir, I daren't touch it, 

'Cause it 'gainst my stomach turns. 

"An my cider, mind you, neighbor, 

Best ther' is in all the land, 
Is jist teemin' with the createers, 

Hundreds o' 'em, understand. 



FARMER STEB BINS' COMPLAINT. 

"Thet ther' microscop' he uses, 
Keeps a findin' new things out; 

An' ez fer a feller eatin', 
No, I can't, I do without. 

" 'Liza sits ther' at the table 

With a sickly lookin' face, 
An' I chaw an' swaller somethin', 

But it never stays in place. 

"An' thet teacher keeps a eatin' 
Bugs an' snakes ez if 'twere fun ; 

Thet old microscop' o' hisn 

Doesn't hurt his stomach none. 

'"Liza an' me, we jist look purty, 

Thinnin' like a risin' fog"; 
W'y, old Towser doesn't know us, 

An' he is no common dog. 

"What ter do, thet is the question — 
Neighbor Hicks, I tell ye what, 

Thet young feller'll have ter travel 
If he keeps thet microscop'." 



WHEN THE TROLLEY CAR GOES BI 



There's a whirring' of the wire 

When the trolley car goes by, 
And the low, black rails flash fire 

When the trolley car goes by. 
We can hear it in the distance 

As it rounds the farther corner, 
And again when strong persistence 

Sends it to the nearer corner, 
And we peer out through the window 

At the faces in the car, 
And we wonder, while we're peering, 

Who the different persons are. 

We remember certain faces 

When the trolley car goes by, 
We can find them in their places 

When the trolley car goes by; 
And there's one face whose attention 

Seems to be drawn to our window, 
And our eyes, we here might mention, 

Meet and smile from each glass window. 
But the car goes on its journey, 

Waiting not for thought or smile, 
And our heart's unwonted thumping 

Keeps on thumping quite a while. 

Then we go about our duties 

Till another whir draws nigh, 
And we recognize more beauties 

When the trolley car goes by. 
There's an influence magnetic 

In that loudly whirring wire, 
There's a something sympathetic 



THE GRUMBLING THOUGHT'S ESCAPE. 

In the rails that flash with fire; 
And kind thoughts will ever linger, 

And our heart will ever sigh, 
When we hear a car approaching, 

Hear its clanging bell go by. 

"Darkness comes, with quiet brooding, 

Till the trolley car goes by, 
Then it is its lights are glowing, 

And it cheers the lonely eye. 
We can hear it in the distance 

As it rounds the farther corner, 
And again when strong persistence 

Sends it to the nearer corner, 
And we peer out through the window 

At the faces in the car, 
And we wonder, while we're peering, 

Who the different persons are. 



*b\z &T\xmb\uvq *5\\.o\xq\\.V$ Ssca^e. 



"Let me out ! Let me out !" 

Cries the grumbling Thought, impatient- 
"Let me out I 
I am lying here in darkness 
And I want to see the light — 
Let me out ! 
I am tired of these confines 

And this skull-enshrouded night — 
Let me out !" 
So I hear him ever pleading 
As I pass along, unheeding 
His small voice ; 



THE GRUMBLING THOUGHT'S ESCAPE. 

And I stop to watch a shower 

On my way, 
And I feel the thunder's power 
Earthward stray ; 
But above the thunder's clatter 
And the raindrops' steady patter, 
I can hear the grumbler chatter, 
"Let me out !" 



"Let me out ! Let me out !" 

Wails the panting thought, half frenzied- 
"Let me ont ! 
Oh, I love to see the rainbow 

With its colors thrown on high — 
Let me out ! 
And the silvery sheen of nature 

When the storm has quite passed by — 
Let me out !" 
So I hear him ever pleading 
As I pass along, unheeding 
His small voice ; 
And I stoop to pluck a flower 

Kissed with dew, 
And the birds, out since the shower, 
Sing anew ; 
But above the joyful singing 
And the clamorous upspringing, 
I can hear those three words ringing, 
"Let me out !" 

"Let me out ! Let me out !" 

Shrieks the captive Thought, upstarting- 
"Let me out ! 
I can't stand it here forever 

Held by many rings and chains, — 
Let me out ! 



NOT ONE COMES BACK. 

While there's freedom all about me 
And equality still reigns — 
Let me out !" 
So I hear him ever pleading 
As I pass along, unheeding 
His small voice, — 
Hark ! a clanking and commotion 

In his cell, 
And swift footsteps are in motion, 
I know well ; 
Closer, closer they are tripping, 
And my pen I'm tightly gripping 
As from line to line 'tis slipping — 
Thought is out ! 



T&cA 6x\e Comes l^acV. 



Not one comes back, 
The eyelids close, 
And painful throes 
Of death are past. 
Beside the bier, 
We think we hear 
A gay voice near, 
While tears flow fast. 
But no, that face so deathly calm 
Is past the hope of prayer or psalm 
On this earth; whispers fill the room, 
And sobs are heard from out the gloom. 
But silent yonder form. 

We call it death, this change of soul 
From walls of flesh to upper skies; 

8 



NOT ONE COMES BACK, 

Our inward selves shall some day rise 
To where the legion planets roll. 
Nor shall we mourn for mother earth, 
When all the universe is ours; 
One moment with our God is worth 
A century of regal powers. 

What hosts have entered mystery ! 

Earth only can their numbers tell. 
The offal of humanity 

Makes up the sweets of taste and smell. 
The very dust beneath our feet 

Is charged with tissue, bone and blood, 
That once the master hand did greet 

And fashion into human bud. 

Not one comes back, 

Those forms that dwelt 

On earth and felt 
Death's chilling blast. 

So we shall go 

When heartbeat slow 

Shall let us know 
We face the vast. 



THE TIME OF THE PIONEER. 



^Vie 'ilme 6^ *5\ve PVotveet. 



Bold men lived in those early days 

When lumber ran the river, 
Controlled by brawny hands and arras 

With nerves too stoic to quiver. 
To Stevens Point and St. Louis 

The rafts of pine were floated, 
For there the great demand prevailed 

And highest price was quoted. 

The pioneer saw many sights 

To please the mind and soul, 
Not then were twinkling city lights, 

Not then the dams' control. 
The waters leaped and tossed at will, 

And roared at Big Bull Falls, 
As yet there was no hum of mill 

Between the valley's walls. 

The kingfisher, unchallenged, dived 

Beneath the river's brim, 
The sage old owl each night arrived 

To perch on knotted limb 
Beside the moonlit scene below, 

Awake with mellow sound; 
On every side swayed to and fro 

The monarchs of the ground. 

The pines, untouched by axe or saw, 

Enjoyed their solitude, 
Theirs' was divine, not human, law, 

They knew no grasping mood. 
No Indian had disturbed their peace 

10 



TEE TIME OF THE PIONEER. 

Back in the dreamy past; 
Then from the south the white men came 
To clear the forests vast. 

They came by boat and then by team 

Up through primeval woods; 
They brought their all far up the stream, 

Their households and their goods. 
Some stopped at Little Bull to live, 

Xow known as Mosinee, 
While others came their best to give 

To Wausau, name to be. 

'Twas Big Bull Falls in early days, 

Some fifty years ago; 
To early pioneers all praise 

For hardships' overthrow. 
They toiled with perseverance strong, 

And nobly did their duty, 
For Wausau has been noted long 

For grit, and push, and beauty. 

Those who wrought in the early years 

Are leaving, one by one, 
And with them history disappears, 

But not what they have done. 
Such sturdy, self-reliant men, 

Who ran the Old Wisconse, 
Will ne'er be seen on earth again, 

Their time comes here but once. 

They built the mills and sawed the logs, 

Controlled the water power, 
Snatched beauty from unhealthy bogs 

Through toil of many an hour. 
From village road to city street 

They watched fair Wausau grow; 

11 



THE TIME OF THE PIONEER. 

The few gray-headed men we meet 
Are river men we know. 

They saw Wisconsin's heaving breast 

Convulsive every spring, 
And piloted the lumber rafts 

Through foam when pine was king. 
They knew each rock and eddy wild 

Along the river's course, 
And Danger only bowed and smiled 

When such men were in force. 

How pretty must have been the scene 

Before the white men came, 
When at the falls was wealth of green, 

Its banks traversed by game. 
A ledge of rock, from shore to shore, 

Brought forth a rumbling bellow, 
And waters o'er its edge did pour 

Enough to scare a fellow. 

The pioneers heard that deep voice, 

Which bellowed like a bull, 
And named the spot Big Bull Falls 

When it was running full. 
They blasted out the wave-washed rock 

That logs and rafts might dash 
In safety to the mills below, 

Where they brought gold in cash. 

Few vestiges of former days 

Now number in the view 
Which glimmers in a misty haze 

Where mighty forests grew. 
The Devil's Elbow is no more 

Upon the eastern side, 
Because man tampered with that shore 

Past which big rafts did glide. 

12 



TEE TIME OF THE PIONEER. 

He placed a railroad depot near 

Upon Clarke's island rocks, 
And in mid-river built a pier 

Of stone, in solid blocks; 
Stretched there a mighty bridge of steel 

Above the heaving waters, 
That cities might like sisters feel, 

And grow as loving daughters. 

The hum of progress fills one's ear 

Far up and down the rrver, 
Big mills and factories appear, 

With belts and shafts aquiver. 
The city lies within the vale, 

Protected by the hills, 
And flowing in from every side 

Are rivers, creeks and rills. 

Two islands have been occupied 

By industries far-reaching, 
While others primitive abide 

Unknown to whistles' screeching. 
As parks, they would be beauty spots 

For rest and recreation, 
Whose shady depths would give us thoughts 

To whet imagination. 

Out in the river bed arise 

The rocks of olden times, 
Which greeted first the Indians' eyes, 

Men who knew naught of rhymes. 
In heat of summer sun they bask, 

The spray about their bases; 
How many years, we fain would ask, 

Have fanned their stony faces? 

The wigwams, clustered on the shore, 
Amid the fires gleaming, 

13 



THE TIME OF THE PIONEER. 

Close to the falling waters' roar. 

Set young braves' minds to dreaming. 
Their superstitious hearts would beat 

In time with waters dashing; 
The falls seemed like the gods' retreat, 

Their thunderous voices crashing. 

Each spring the melting snows bore down 

The big Wisconsin Valley, 
And gurgled past rock ledges brown 

A mighty force to rally. 
They reached the falls with pent-up power 

And churned its depths to foam, 
Which caused each fish in fear to cower, 

And deeper depths to roam. 

Past wooded isles the waters rushed 

Adown their rocky bed, 
But here and there, with voices hushed, 

And silent as the dead, 
They swung around a graceful bend 

Another race to enter, 
Where soon their noiseless mood would end* 

To heave from shore to center. 

Big Rib, with bosom black and calm, 

Crept in a little lower, 
With spirit like a David's psalm, 

A prayer and praise bestower. 
In early years an Indian camp 

Was nearly always here, 
Each bark canoe bad pine knot lamp 

And slender fishing spear. 

The dusky Redmen tracked big game 

On Rib and Mosinee, 
And up the river sturgeon came 

14 



MISSISSIPPI 1 S BRIDE. 

In days that used to be. 
The Sturgeon Eddy earned its right 

That fish's name to bear, 
Because, of old, men, red and white, 

Have seen those monsters there. 

We sit upon the grassy banks 

Of the surrounding streams, 
And with full hearts breathe out our thanks 

For thoughts that come in dreams. 
We see the rivers as they were 

Between the valley's hills, 
When Indians and wild game, astir, 

Were here instead of mills. 



Mississippi's IbxvAe. 



Noble Wisconse! on-rushing stream, 
Reflecting rays of quivering gleam 
'TweeH rocky banks, whose slopes are steep, 
Whose grasses, imaged in the deep, 
Wave to and fro with gentle sough, 
Of thee we write with rapture now, 
Noble Wisconse! 

Heaving Wisconse! thy waters flow 

From out the North, they strengthen, grow; 

Away, away through forests old, 

And on and on o'er paths untold 

Thy instinct bears thy waves along 

'Mid lullabies and swells of song, 

Heaving Wisconse! 

Rushing Wisconse! within thy path 
Lurk obstacles at which thy wrath 

15 



MISSISSIPPI'S BRIDE. 

Bursts forth with grandeur most sublime; 
Tis then thy forces all combine, 
And, with a rush and with a roar, 
Thy multitudes sweep all before, 
Rushing* Wisconse! 

Foaming Wisconse! at Big Bull Falls 
Thy waters roar between the walls 
On either side; with whirl and splash, 
They leap and foam, and fall and crash; 
Then onward down the rocky vale, 
Triumphant, they new foes assail, 
Foaming Wisconse! 

Peaceful Wisconse! thy waters steal 
Around the graceful curves, and feel 
The summer wind white-cap their waves; 
And soon grim Winter's crystal paves 
Thee over with an icy cast, 
Until the North Wind blows his last, 
Peaceful Wisconse ! 

Scenic Wisconse ! the famous Dells 
At Kilbourn, picturesqueness tell; 
For centuries the waters*wore 
Their bed down through the rocky floor, 
Till now they rush between high walls, 
And Time down through the ages calls, 
"Scenic Wisconse !" 

Flowing Wisconse ! still on thy way 
To mingle Mississippi's spray, — 
Still on to him whose waters flow 
Into the Gulf of Mexico: 
The waters mingle and the bride 
Stands proudly by her suitor's side — 
Happy Wisconse ! 

16 



RIB HILL. 



UVd ^LvW. 



Stupendous hill ! O noble height ! 
Thy brow is bathed with heaven's light; 
What majesty enshrouds thy form, 
What regal splendor thou hast borne, 
'Mid what a clash and what a roar 
Thy walls were laid in days of yore ! 
Built up thou wert through ages long, 
And, building still, thou singst thy song. 

The winds blow through thy yielding locks, 
And whisper to the idle rocks; 
Seraphic strains are echoed far — 
Ah, there the realms of music are — 
O'er hill and dale — ecstatic notes ! 
The strains flow from ten thousand throats, 
And every note is sweet and clear 
Directed by Dame Nature's ear. 

What awful sights and sounds have been ! 
The lightning's flash, the thunder's din, 
Has lit thy walls, has shaken all 
Thy rocks from least to largest wall; 
Great boulders, loosened from on high, 
Have swept along, and dashing by, 
Have filled the woods for miles around 
With mighty and chaotic sound. 

The hoary trees of ages past 
Have given up to time at last, 
Have bowed their heads to do his will 
And now lie calm and cold and still. 
How grandly stood they years ago 
And swayed in rapture to and fro ! 

17 



RIB HILL, 

But now, ah now, can never more 

Lift up their heads great heights to soar. 

The autumn leaves fell from the trees 
And blew about with every breeze; 
They formed the soil beneath our feet 
On which the moss, with odors sweet, 
Clings closely. Here a little spring 
Bursts forth, bright with its bubbling, 
And trickles down its winding course 
With splash and rile and pent-up force. 

Here is a place where names have scarred 
The trees, and every log lies charred; 
The rocks lie black and bare and bleak, 
A wilder place 'twere hard to seek. 
We lift our eyes and seek the top, 
Far yonder ridge where we shall stop; 
But no, it still is far away, 
Far up the rocks, so bleak and gray. 

The scene is grand; our pulses thrill, 
The lun^s with life and pureness fill; 
Far down below us is the base 
From which we started in the race. 
We grasp a rock and roll it down 
The inclined plane; with crash and bound 
It tears its way to depths below, 
While echoes through the forests go. 

Still-on and up, we reach the height 
From which we see a splendid sight: 
Fair Wausau rests in peace serene, 
Surrounding farms lie fresh and green, 
And smoke from burners fills the air; • 
The river's waters gleam so fair, 
A silvery thread, seen now and then 
To disappear, appear again. • 

18 



RIB HILL. 

The mighty boulders strew the ground 
Here on the height, and all around 
Are seen grim, stately figures tall 
From which great slabs detach and fall 
To earth. Oh, what a wondrous place ! 
We see here Nature's kind old face; 
We do not see why tourists fail 
To read here Nature's better tale. 

Four miles away the city lies: 

Ah, friends, it is no small surprise 

To hear you say, "Where's something new?" 

When grand old Rib is beckoning you 

To grandeur and to blissful heights, 

Where Nature's will asserts its rights. 

Dear friends, before you travel far, 

First view the scenes where you now are. 

The Queen's Chair. 

On Rib there is a natural freak 

Of nature; on the very peak 

A rocky height shoots from the ground, 

And on its top a chair is found. 

'Twas formed and chiseled by no hand, 

But by a glacier, understand. 

It is a free and easy chair, 

Although soft cushions are not there. 

The Balanced Rock. 

The balanced rock be sure to see: 

Surprised with pleasure you will be 

In viewing such a sight unique; 

It seems that were you but to speak 

The mass of tons would quickly glide 

From off its slanting, glassy side 

To earth below. How grand and great 

Is Nature in her wildest state ! 

19 



LOOKING WESTWARD FROM RIB HILL. 

Our eyes should be awake to these, 
To Nature's art, her rocks and trees. 
Life's stock of pictures in the brain 
Is old and worn and much the same; 
We need new views for mind and soul, 
And purity to seal the whole. 
Old Rib, to thee we owe new views, 
Which we shall ne'er blot out, but use. 



£>ooViTUi MDesteaTd *5Yom m\> ^WV. 



Looking westward from Rib Hill, 
From a quartzite ledge so still, 
Eye can sweep the distance far 
O'er which uncut forests are. 
And it sees there verdant heights, 

Smaller than this where we stand, 
Sees so many tempting sights, 

By a mighty Maker planned, 
That it scarce can leave the spot, 
Much less see, then later not. 

Westward in his course, the sun 
Counts his day's work nearly done, 
And the heavens, all ablaze, 
Meet the nature-lover's gaze. 
Artist's brush should paint the scene 
In its autumn-tinted green, 
With its golden skies o'erhead, 
Where the sun's last rays have fled. 
Truly, here the poet mind 
Subjects for deep thought may find. 

Far away, off o'er the trees, 
Silent, touched not by" a breeze, 

20 



MOSINEE HILL AND VICINITY. 

Is a mist cloud lying low, 
Through which piercing gaze would go; 
But eye cannot pierce that veil, 
Human vision there must fail; 
Still we know there's light beyond, 
For the mind, quick to respond, 
Tells us, "This scene is not all — 
More scenes lie beyond that wall." 

So it is in life, my friend, 
Death's veil cannot be the end. 
Like the mist cloud lying 'tween 
What we see and that unseen, 
Is the veil that bounds life's view; 
Soul explains all this to you, 
And he says, "This is not all — 
More scenes lie beyond that wall." 



^osvxveei ^L\W ^SItvA XicvtutQ. 



Men travel far 

For scenes that thrill, 
But view not those 
Which nature throws 
To light close by, 
Which we descry 

From yonder hill. 

Rising in its coat of blue, 

A cone-shaped hill, 
Pleasing to the eye, a view 

Secluded, still, 
It stands out 'gainst the southern sky 
Majestic in its drapery 

21 



MOSINEE HILL AND VICINITY. 

Of hemlocks; and to view it long-, 
Brings thoughts of what its heights unfold— 
Scenes song or story ne'er unrolled, 
Which pen has ne'er described. 

November, with her locks unrolled 

To whispering wind, through forests strolled 

On that bright da} 7 ; her face was fair, 

And smilingly she gazed around 

On sky and cliff, on tree and ground, 

Exclaiming, "Oh, what blithesome air ! 

What beauty and what peace are here, 

What freedom and ecstatic cheer !" 

Her trailing robes brushed o'er the leaves 
To whirl them here and there; a breeze 
Preceded her where'er she went, 
And, spending, still seemed never spent. 
"Coy maiden, with thy cheeks aflame 
With health and beauty — e'er the same — 
Point out to us some lovely spot 
Where Nature pleads, 'Forget me not.' ; 

She thought a moment, then she said, 
With rippling lip and tilt of head, 
"Kind sir, it's poesy you're after — 
Excuse my unbecoming laughter, 
But poets are so scarce, you see, 
Out in these woods, that you'll agree 
There's something funny in my task 
Of answering what you now ask," 

She looked up at yon towering height — 
Rib Hill, bathed in the morning light, 
And mused, "You've been there oft before, 
And written rhymes, and rhymes galore. 
There's Mosinee; near it are views 

22 



MOSINEE HILL AND VICINITY. 

Which you should have a chance to use, 
For, to my mind, it offers much 
Which should inspire poetic touch." 

A rustle of the leaves, and then 
She disappeared; we looked again, 
But nothing was where she had been 
Except the leaves upon the ground, 
But from afar there came a sound 
Of laughter, echoing out and in, 
Which seemed to say, "Come, follow me, 
And view the heights of Mosinee." 

We followed, and the walk was long 
Down through the thickets, but at last 
We found a road and swiftly passed 
O'er space which lay between; and song 
And whistle filled the noonday air, 
And joy and balm were everywhere. 
The hill rose from surrounding farms, 
And held the forests in its arms. 

Oh, Mosinee, wouldst thou could rise 

Far upward into clearer skies; 

Wouldst thou could look down on the clouds 

About thy crags, and draw the crowds 

Of tourists to thy steeps, where cry 

Of swooping eagle were close by; 

Wouldst thou could move thy rocks and rise 

Far upward into clearer skies. 

Then, climbing to thy utmost crown, 
And standing there and looking down, 
The tourist could feel what he feels 
When far above the world, while peals 
Of thunder rumble, crash and roar 
Down underneath, and while the pour 

23 



MOSINEE HILL AND VICINITY. 

Of raindrops washes hill and dale, 
And lightnings simmer and g~row pale. 

But he, untouched, could view the scene, 
And feel its grandeur, knowing well 
That when he set foot in the dell 
The grasses would be fresh and green; 
And, too, the sun, low in the west, 
Would pierce the raindrops, adding zest 
To nature's beauty, while a scroll 
Would in the east in high curve roll. 

The river, calmly flowing by — 
Proud old W r isconse, he would descry, 
And paddling slowly in his boat, 
He would upon the waters float; 
Gaze steadfastly on scenes profound 
Until his boat ran well aground; 
Then, leaping out, he'd make his way 
To where the glimmering city lay. 

This is a picture ne'er to be 

For thee, O Hill, O Mosinee ! 

We eulogize thee as thou art, 

For thou art dear to Nature's heart. 

'Tis not the girth, 'tis not the height 

That always makes the grandest sight: 

A small Vesuvius, belching fire, 

Sees tourists more than Mont Blanc's spire. 

Thus did we muse while loitering there 
At the hill's base. As stair by stair 
We rise to some commanding tower 
To view the beauty and the power 
In Nature's tracings, so the mind 
Fose to a higher plane to find 
An ideal view of Mosinee, 
Which pen could trace but eye not see. 

24 



MOSINEE HILL AND VICINITY. 

Reality shall be our theme — 
The trees, the rocks, the river near, 
The skies, the scenes that shall appear 
As we pass onward. Light esteem 
For our surrounding's ought to cease. 
Who knows each babbling brook's release ? 
Each waterfall, each forest walk, 
Each mossy vale and towering rock ? 

We seek and find: no closet dream 

Can picture wood, and field, and stream, 

In sympathetic tints; the eye 

Must see, compare, commune, and try 

To cast a likeness true to Nature 

In form and pose and beauteous feature, 

Indelibly, in finished state, 

Upon the brain's soft sensitive plate. 

W T e upward passed between the files 

Of trees, whose trunks traced winding aisles 

To Nature's altar — aisles of stone, 

With moss and autumn leaf o'erstrown, 

Which yielded softly to our tread 

And, slanting steeper, skyward led. 

Another effort and we stood 

On top, surrounded by the wood. 

No monstrous rocks there met our gaze, 
But beauty reigned supreme; a maze 
Of tree trunks hid the northern side 
Up which we came, and, circling wide, 
Encompassed well the open space 
About us. What a charming place 
To rest one's limbs — clouds far on high, 
The only sound a muffled sigh. 

We southward walked atop the hill, 
Through brush and berry bramble, till 

25 



MOSINEE HILL AND VICINITY. 

The landscape opened far and near. 
The eastern valley lay below, 
Off to our left; with rippled flow 
The old Wisconse deigned to appear 
At the hill's base, and then it wound 
Unseen beside yon wood-clad mound. 

Appearing twice off toward the south, 
In lake-like form, it sought its mouth, 
Traversing miles of forests green 
E'er finding it near Prairie du Chien. 
The sun peeked through the cloud-girt skies 
And bathed yon lakelets with his light, 
Until they gleamed so silvery white 
That they worked mischief to our eyes. 

Away off o'er converging vales, 

Till tree and cloud met, eye could stroll, 

And feel an uplift of the soul, 

While mind was busy planning tales. 

And then that tingling ol: the nerves, 

So indescribable, so grand, 

Which came to thrill and to command, 

Directing thought in upward curves. 

Beneath us, piled about our feet, 
The quartzite rocks lay; lichens grew 
Upon them, bringing tints to view 
Which eye is always pleased to greet. 
Before, and sloping steeply, fell 
The hillside to a little dell 
Which intervened 'tween us and that 
Which welwere often looking at. 

Yon mound it was that drew our gaze — 
A mound of rock, where streaming rays 
Of sunlight glanced, and where the river, 

26 



MOSINEE HILL AND VICINITF. 

Unseen, curved on close by, aquiver 
With its own force. Quite thickly, too, 
A second growth of timber grew 
Upon the mound and down each side, 
Except where farms lay undescried. 

Descending- Mosinee, we walked 
Across the dell and upward through 
The silent wood: we then well* know 
That Nature had that day unlocked 
For us the doors to inner halls, 
Swung open but to those who seek 
The beautiful. That man is weak 
Whose foot ne'er in the forest falls. 

We reached the mound, and soon achieved 
Its height; the eastern steep lay bare 
Of trees, but rocks were tumbled there, 
Whose rugged bleakness was relieved 
Down lower where the wood began; 
And, looking* far off toward the east, 
The eye could on vast beauty feast, 
And contemplate the heaven's span. 

An artist, sitting on that mound 
With canvas and with brush in hand, 
Could paint a picture to command 
An admiration that would sound 
Around the world. Can words portray 
Bewitching scenes like paints, can they? 
Ah, that they could! What angels white 
Would then say to the poet, "Write." 

We turned to go, but lingered still: 
Quite combative were Thought and Will, 
The former said, "It's getting late;'* 
The latter, "Yes, I know, but wait." 



zi 



MOSINEE HILL AND VICINITY. 

We looked again at that before — 
The rocks, the trees, the river shore, 
The railroad that so near it lay 
And stretched to cities far away. 

"Preserve," is the historian's thought; 

He turns old pages; seeks the truth 

With which to stir the future youth, 

Whose mind should know what minds have wrought, 

Preserve is each true writer's aim. 

To him be everlasting shame 

Whose pen the passing moment mocks, 

Whose motive leads to "Ruin's rocks. 

Preserve the scenes that thrill your soul, 
If not in song, why then in mind. 
The pen can ample service find 
By heaping now and then a coal 
Upon your head; a kindly word 
Is not disdained, but rightly heard. 
Who shows you beauty, is your friend; 
Who baseness, but a wretch, a fiend. 

We moved away; the sun was low, 
And lit the landscape with his glow. 
Our path was northwest, toward a sound 
That made a neighboring field abound 
With tinklings. Patient cows were lowing, 
And, by expectance, plainly showing 
That evening milking time was near, 
When singing milkmaid would appear. 

A'farm house, nestled in the open, 
Where frosty sod was being broken, 
Next rose to view. The farmers dog 
Gave friendly greeting, and each hog, 
With tossing head and facial wrinkle, 

28 



LOVERS' LANE. 

Peered at us, grunting - , eyes atwinkle 
With mischief. Children shyly stared 
From windows, seemingly quite scared. 

But we passed on. An old road wound 
Before us; still beyond a sound 
Came to our ears which seemed a call 
To cattle. Alpine was our thought 
As we moved into a large field, 
And, walking o'er it, saw revealed 
Across the valley, Rib's high wall 
And further city which we sought. 



£o\)&TS £>aTve». 



Beauty spots of Nature thrill us, 

Rapture hearts and court the eyes; 
And with luring thoughts they fill us, 

Picturing a paradise. 
Lovers' Lane, with cones and needles, 

Seems to draw our wandering feet, 
And its whispering pines speak riddles 

To the human souls they greet. 
But to him who studies Nature, 

In the field and in the wood, 
He as scholar, she as teacher, 

Much by him is understood. 
Close communion carves and changes, 

And picks out the loosened dross, 
Like the rains on mountain ranges, 

As they rush, and strain, and toss. 

Stand you here and view the beauties, 

From this height o'ertopped with trees: 
Drop your cares and earthly duties, 

29 



LOVERS 1 LANE. 

And enjoy the forest breeze. 
Look away off o'er the green pines 

At yon building wrought so fair — 
The Asylum, where no sun shines 

For poor souls in mad despair. 
See the blue hills — one proud old Rib. 

And the other, Mosinee; 
And below you lies a deep crib 

Where dark waters used to be, 
But instead of rushing waters 

Forest verdure now you find: 
Once 'twas ruled by Nature's daughters, 

By Wisconse and Rib combined. 

Pass along the shady lane-side, 

On the edge of bank so steep; 
Pause and listen to the whispers 

That will cause your pulse to leap. 
Lover never whispered sweeter 

In a blushing maiden's ear 
Than these pine trees, as you linger, 

Whisper to jou, low and clear. 
Lovers' Lane, though short and winding, 

Counts its friends by many a score, 
And new lovers still are finding 

Tracks of lovers gone before. 
Some have conquered in their wooing, 

Others failed and tried again, 
Till at last they, too, succeeded, 

So cheer up, you single men. 

But how long can maid and lover 
Stroll or ride on Lovers' Lane? 

Man is not content with beauty, 
He is ever after gain. 

Stroke of axe will soon be sending 
Trees and thickets to the earth, 

30 



THE BIG RIB RIVER. 

And where once were life and verdure 

Will be barrenness and dearth. 
In my mind's eye is a picture 

Of a settler, grizzled, old, 
Who is standing by a pine slab, 

Gazing at this warning cold: 
"Know you that all things are fleeting? 

You shall pass away, be slain, 
Where you stand was once a roadway, 

It was known as Lovers' Lane." 



1)\z H>i$ Hib HvoeT. 



In childhood*we watched the Big Rib River's winding, 
Its sandbanks of white and its minnowy swarms; 

We swam in its pools, laughing gleefully, finding 

Bright shells of the snail and the clam o'er their forms. 

We gathered "luck stones," which were worn by the water 
To smoothness and polish, through hundreds of years; 

The centre of each showed a hole, and an otter 
Could dive hardly quicker^than we, it appears. 

By shading the eyes we could see them beneath us, 
These stones that to boys seemed like riddles of fate; 

A dive and a splash, and a stone came up with us, 
Or else something lighter, some unwelcome bait. 

A chip it might be or a twig, water laden, 

We'd throw it on shore, disappear once again, 

Emerge with a splutter, with hair like a maiden, 
And glistening wet, parted well now and then. 

31 



THE BIG RIB RIVER. 

We'd dash the wet drops from our hair, ears and faces, 
And race along- fleetly at edge of the shore, 

Where pebbles would rattle and start from their places, 
To rest in cool depths where they rested before. 

The sands lay invitingly warm all about us, 

In which we would roll and bespatter our limbs, 

Then jump in the water and wash the dirt from us 
While Rib moved along in its varying- whims. 

Bright days were those spent in the bloom of our boyhood 
Upon the warm sands on the banks of Big Rib, 

And years as they passed made them dear to our manhood, 
For much have we swum in their watery crib. 

The beauties of nature still hold our attention 
Whenever we visit- the banks of the stream; 

McCleary's long bridge, from its height of suspension, 
Reveals to us scenic effects for a dream. 

The willows crop out at the verge of the tree line 
And hide the big trunks of their towering friends: 

The butternut, elm, maple, hemlock and pitch pine, 
And others on either bank, as each extends. 

Gaze northward and on the west bank, thickly wooded, 
You see the big sandbar where picknickers wade ; 

Each spring this with water is quite deeply flooded, 
But summer brings verdure and beauty and shade. 

The opposite bank, in a small, curving basin, 

Holds what is well known as the Half-A-Moon Lake ; 

A small creek, whose waters with eagerness hasten, 
Connects it with Bib Rib near by, through the brake. 

This lake, though now small and quite choked up with grasses, 
Was once a good place for the fisherman's sport : 

32 



ROTHCHILDS ON THE WISCONSE. 

And hunters, when deer used to frequent the passes, 
Found there the fresh signs and the trapper's resort. 

But time has wrought changes, the cattle now wander 
About on the paths where the proud buck once trod ; 

Close by are the clearings, the bridge, and the thunder 
Of traffic, where teams strike the planks as they plod. 

To step in a boat and float southward is pleasure, 
For on either side are the beckoning trees, 

Whose arms in the depths below image their measure. 
And ripples are kissed into life by each breeze. 

Ere long we are swung into scenes of great beauty, 

A watery avenue spreads to the south; 
Two rivers give greeting, to the smaller the duty 

Of ending its course from the source to- the mouth. 

The river Wisconsin, with broad bosom heaving, . 

Inoculates strength from the veins of its friend, 
Whose youthful career, for which now we are grieving, 

Was likewise made stronger by Little Rib's end. 



llo\\ic\\\\&,s Gxv *5\vei MOlsccmse. 



A favorite 'mong the pretty spots 

Which nature has so richly spread 

About us, thou art grand indeed; 

For, girded round with piney trees 

Whose cones bedeck the verdant sod, 

Thou hast the perfume of the wild. 

Like amphitheatre of old, 

Thou hast no roof but heaven's blue, 

W T here fleecy clouds move slowly by, 

And whispering winds through forests glide. 

33 



ROTHCHILDS ON THE WISCONSE. 

The broad Wisconse laps at thy feet, 
Then flows on toward the west and south, 
And deep peace o'er its bosom smiles 
Until a point of rock is met, 
Whose jutting 'neath the waters breaks 
The peacefulness; a swirl and rush, 
And ripples mix with sudsy foam 
To form a rapids swift, whose noise 
Is music to the ear. 

Close by, upon the eastern shore, 

A babbling- creek flows from the hill 

Through culvert made of brick and stone, 

Above which runs the wagon road. 

The waters, cooled by ample shade 

Of small growth, push on o'er the sands„ 

To wash the pebbles doubly clean 

And make them gems in children's eyes. 

Still onward in its course, the stream 

Breaks through the intervening space 

And joins the parent river. 

The western shore of Old Wisconse, 
Dark with its splendid forest growth, 
Is imaged in the waters deep 
As, noiselessly, they glide along. 
We stand upon the eastern bank, 
Hallooing with expanded lungs, 
And far back in yon forest depths 
The echo greets our ears again. 
Northwest we turn our raptured gaze, 
And there the mighty hill appears 
In deep-blue robes of graceful sweep. 
'Tis Rib, the highest point of land 
Within the boundaries of our state. 
Ah, what a place for Wausau Lake, 
W T ith dam at Rothchilds, and a sheet 

34 



AN AUTUMN EVE ON TEE WISCONSIN. 

Of water broad and deep and long-, 
Extending far as Big Bull Falls. 
Posterity, at least, should win 
What we in ecstasy would plan. 



3Vxv 3l\x\\xmw S\>& Cm *5\ie ADvscoxvsuv. 



'Twas evening, with pale moon overhead, 

The trees and stumps cast shadowed forms; 

The river's waters washed its bed, 
The forest bent with colored swarms. 

The whirling waters lisped a song, 
And gurgled loud with childish glee; 

And fleecy foam was borne along, 
Pure, spotless, as it looked to be. 

The arm-like booms, held by tall piles, 

Stretched down the glistening moonlit way; 

And grayish forms, like men in files, 
Rose from dark depths to light of day. 

An island in far distance rose 

From out this moving, liquid mass, 

And slumbered there in snug repose, 
Clothed in its warmth of vine and grass. 

How sweet and silent was the scene 
Made light by heaven's countless suns. 

All things seemed born of higher mien, 
All for our good, we earthly ones. 

Cool mist rose circling in the air, 
And shaped itself in dim outline, 

35 



THE FIVE MILE DAM. 

Like long-robed forms in streaming- hair. 
Transfigured from this earth of time. 

The templed woods on either hand 
With moan or sigh made not a sound; 

Gray patriarchs, once tall and grand, 
Now grasped the dissipating ground. 

The spectral leaves fell here and there, 

And wrapped old Earth in Autumn's gown; 

For Winter, chill, had left his lair, 

And through the north was sweeping down. 

Ah, may our lives be like this scene, 

Though Trouble's gown doth wrap up in; 

For Spring is sure to bring her green, 
So we new joys are sure to win. 



*5\v& "5\\>* "NCW& Tiam. 



We stood upon the dam one night 

And watched the waters rush 
O'er log and plank, 
From bank to bank, 

With force enough to crush. 
A rumble from the forces massed, 

A whirl, a leap, a plunge; 
And then with lessened speed they passed 

To where the rapids lunge. 
Then ripple, ripple, ripple, 

As they sang a sweeter song; 
And gurgle, gurgle, gurgle, 

As they tripped their way along. 

36 



THE FIVE MILE DAM. 

The river just above the dam 

Lay quietly at rest; 
Each log" and boom 
Lay in the gloom 

Untouched by heaving breast. 
How peaceful was the scene above! 

How wild and weird below! 
The one, a type of idleness; 

The other, push and go. 
And far up in the heaven's blue 

The twinkling stars looked down 
Upon a misty, scenic view 

Beside rock ledges brown. 

We stood upon the dam until 

Our eyelids heavy grew, 
Until the mind, 
With pictures lined, 

Was burdened, through and through. 
Oh, Nature, how we love thy rocks, 

And how we love thy rills! 
And how we love thy mossy walks 

Upon the verdant hills! 
And how we love the Five Mile Dam 

Across the old Wisconse! 
We wish to view it many times 

Since we have viewed it once. 



37 



THE SPRING AT COLE'S SLOUGH. 



Lying in a hollow 

Near the railroad track, 
Not too deep nor shallow, 

Thou dost nothing- lack. 
Cooling are thy waters 

Sheltered from the sun: 
Balm for thirsty hunters, 

Thou hast praises won. 

There a path extending 

Down the hill to thee, 
Shows where man is wending 

Steps to liquid free. 
And the trees uplifted 

Closely side by side, 
By small sunbeams rifted, 

Try thy depths to hide. 

In the silent evening 

When the moon is high, 
When the mists are leaving 

The slough's waters nigh, 
Timid deer in hearing 

Of the listening ear, 
The cool spring are nearing, 

Stepping as with fear. 

Bye and bye they issue 
Through an open space, 

And with shivering tissue, 
Glance from place to place. 

Soon they stop to listen 
To a whip-poor-will, 

38 



MARSHALL HILL. 

Then they onward hasten 
To the spring- so still. 

See them as they're drinking- 

Monarchs of the strand! 
See, their hoofs are sinking 

In the soft, wet sand. 
Ah, thou gem of nature, 

Spring beside the slough! 
Free to every creature, 

Free to me, to you. 



'KUYsVvaVV m\V 



Low-lying hill, with poplars crowned, 
With leaves of many autumns browned, 
Thou canst not lift thy head like Rib 
And soar above the valley's crib; 
But still thy form symmetrical 
Shows plainly what we know so well — 
That thou didst grandly rise on high 
Long years ago, in time gone by. 

We see grand trees, now lying low, 
That swayed their branches years ago; 
They bowed their heads to ringing axe, 
To whose steeled will they were as wax. 
The blackened stumps e'en now remain 
To tell the story and the strain 
Upon their wormy, barkless forms, 
Rent, shattered by the midnight storms. 

The ground is thickly strewn with brush, 
Through which the cunning rabbits rush; 

39 



MARSHALL HILL. 

The wind a mournful cadence gives, 
And in our hearts a dullness leaves; 
We cannot understand the "now," 
How Nature could desist, allow 
Her charms to be so hacked and torn, 
And left for ages on forlorn. 

Man came, and with cruel blow 

Sent monarchs crashing through the snow; 

The oxen drew them down the hill 

The river's rushing tide to fill 

With bleeding, naked, severed trunks — 

Forms that were living landmarks once. 

They suffered, died, and rushed along 

Through foaming waters fleet and strong. 

But some were left to live and grow 
And grateful shade to cast below; 
The howhng winds and beating rains 
Caused reeling forms and dizzy brains; 
A few fell headlong through the air — 
A crash! they lifeless liest there. 
Yes, many, many tragic scenes 
Have desolated forest greens. 

In spite of winds and slow decay, 
All have not yet been swept away; 
The woodsman's axe has left unscarred 
Some beauteous scenes still wild, unmarred. 
The maple, hemlock, oak and pine 
Still lift their heads to heights sublime; 
And sparkling springs break from the soil 
To trickle, splash, and leap and roil. 

With open valleys here and there, 
All leading toward the river fair, 
Thou, Marshall, art a pleasant view, 

40 



MARSHALL HILL. 

Thy rocks proclaim a wildness too; 
The railroad twines along thy base. 
Now in, now out. from place to place; 
The old Wisconsin rushes by, 
And echoes falling- waters nigh. 

THE PROSTRATE GIANT. 

A freak of nature we may find 

On Marshall; two small valleys wind 

Along to form a giant's frame, 

Shaped, we believe, by years of rain. 

Between the valleys is a rise, 

And casting there our searching eyes, 

We see the breast of giant old 

O'er which the centuries have rolled. 

Rib, hill of grander majesty 
Than thou, O Marshall, rises high; 
But even though thy form is small, 
Thou dost possess a scenic wall. 
We write of thee because we know 
That thou, though desolate and low, 
Hast caused emotions pure to roll 
Out from a nature-loving soul. 



41 



JIM MOORE'S SPRING. 



5vm ^CtooTe's Spuxvci. 



Gurgle, gurgle: cool, refreshing 

Waters bursting from the rock; 
Oozing, gleaming, bubbling, creeping, 

Where the hidden caves unlock. 
Spring, the best in all the country, 

Healing balm of peerless worth, 
Never has the drouth ruled o'er thee — 

Fresh and strong e'er since thy birth. 

Kneeling down above thy surface, 

Causes thirst to squirm within; 
Purity and moral purpose 

Are thy attributes and kin. 
Appetite for giddy spirits 

Fades before thy silvery gleam; 
Thou, the queen-drink of the forests, 

Art the youth-engendering stream. 

Drooping limbs protect thy pathway 

Through the rich and pungent soil; 
Hemlock, birch and maple daily 

Lift their heads on high to foil 
All attempts the cutting sun's rays 

Make to penetrate the wood; 
Sheltered, free from all invasion, 

Thou remainest ever good. 

Years of service thou hast rendered 

To the toilers on the road, 
Draughts unsparing thou hast tendered 

To the drawers of the load; 
Indians, long before the white man 

Ever trod the valley's soil, 

42 



JIM MOORE'S SPRING. 

Took of thee: their beasts of burden 
Made thy depths to splash and roil. 

Timid partridges have taken 

Of thy crystal liquid pure; 
Squirrels' chatter did awaken 

When they found thy depths secure; 
And the twittering birds with pleasure 

Stood upon thy brink and drank; 
Thirsty man found thee a treasure, 

An elixir, bank to bank. 

May thy waters ever gurgle, 

Though thy friends be laid to rest; 
Long as planets onward circle 

May thy heart beat in thy breast. 
Wausau^s sons on in the future 

Shall thy cooling waters sip, 
And the sweetness of thy nature 

Shall remain on moistened lip. 

So retain thy youthful vigor 

Onward in the years to come; 
Many a plodding, dusty figure 

Shall seek refuge from the sun 
Underneath the drooping branches 

Of the trees above thy gleam — 
"Hail, all hail," the shout advances, 

"To the spring of springs, the queen!" 



43 



SHE USED TO ROAM THE DEER TRAIL, ETC. 
S\ie AXsfcd *5o Hoam ^\z Deer ^TaVV ^Htou^Vv 



She used to roam the deer trail through the wood, 

This Indian maid I see in my mind's eye; 
Her features, although Indian, showed the good 

That moves men's souls, in depths that underlie. 
Her two long braids hung loosely down behind, 

Wound with the buckskin thongs and beady chains, 
About her graceful form doe-skin entwined 

And, moccasined, her feet trod leafy lanes. 
The sunshine played upon her raven hair, 

And kissed to healthy blush her dimpled cheek, 
Responsive lips had never rested there, 

No Indian brave had wooed this maiden meek. 
Her laughing eyes, like depths of waters stilled, 

Reflected back a purity of soul 
That, giving out their overflow, refilled 

To overflow again, remaining whole. 
Her father's wigwam, nestled near the hill, 

Saw her departure and return each day, 
For with the birds she did the forest fill 

With tripping song and early morning lay. 
Adown the mossy paths her footsteps strayed, 

Above were swaying trees, below the river's blue, 
To where a smooth-worn rock its rugged form displayed, 

Lapped by the ripples where the breezes blew. 
The dusky maiden knelt upon that stone 

And thrust her shapely hands down toward the sands, 
Where darting minnows tried to rule alone 

And croaking bull-frogs voiced their strong demands. 
With streaming finger tips and palms o'ercharged 

With liquid fullness, low she bowed her face, 
And washed until each unseen pore enlarged 

44 



A PICTURE WITHOUT A FRAME. 

And freshened beauty found its wonted place. 
Her dampened hair was brushed by fingers deft, 

And fashioned into braids, and tied with thongs, 
And to complete her toilet, naught was left 

Undone; for, looking down, her eyes discerned 

What other creatures' eyes had early learned: 
That she was comely, graceful, agile and alert, 

Despite a natural shyness which belongs 
To those bred in the wilderness. 

The waters mirrored all that came to drink, 

As well as grassy banks and towering trees, 
And many a deer came to the river's brink 

To take of cooling draughts, and scent the breeze, 
"Twas there the Indian maiden saw her charms 

In one of nature's mirrors then unnamed, 
When Wausau was unknown; there were no farms, 

Wisconsin was a wilderness unclaimed. 



H TvcAaxts ABiWvovft IV "STame, 



AS SEEN FROM THE WINDOWS OF THE H. E. Mc EACHRON CO. S 

OFFICE. 

The great brick mill, all athrob and athrill, 

Is laboring night and day, 
And the wheat is ground as the wheels spin round 

And the waters leap away; 
For down in the deep there can be no sleep, 

The world must have her bread, 
So the water wheel, with its arms of steel, 

Is by mighty forces fed. 

The currents laugh as they make the staff 
Of life for weakling man, 

45 



A PICTURE WITHOUT A FRAME. 

And think of each babe when it first was weighed 

And its battle for life began; 
How every wheel cannot help but feel 

It must nourish the little child 
By grinding a flour whose strengthening power 

For growth will be undefiled, 

The belts whiz on, here, there and yon, 

And the pulleys hiss and roar, 
And the hosts in white in sacks alight, 

In steady streams they pour. 
The thrifty wife kneads the staff of life 

In many a happy home, 
And praises the mill as she pays her bill, 

The mill that is turned by the foam. 

The office force, removed from the source 

Of much of the noise and flurry, 
Keeps count of things while the telephone rings 

And the typewriters fret and worry. 
But the busy brain relieves its strain 

When an engine's whistle blows, 
And we watch with delight the gradual flight 

Of each train as it comes and goes. 

Just over Bull Falls, between widening walls, 

A bridge of steel is seen, 
And along its rails pass the U. S. mails, 

And females too, we ween. 
There is many a face that has found a place 

In the galleries of our mind * 
That would not compare with the beauties found there 

In the cars, were the truth divined. 

We count up our friends, and the little list ends, 

Our acquaintances, too, are gone over, 
But think of the world, her humanity curled 

46 



THE DELLS OF THE EAU CLAIRE. 

Beneath roofs unseen by the rover. 
Each day the trains pass, only adds to the mass 

Of those whom we know not by name, 
With yearning- of eye we watch them glide by, 

Tis a picture without a frame. 

Below and beyond this steel bridge, we are fond 

Of viewing- the beauties of nature, 
The Wisconsin is roaring and over rocks pouring", 

A scene to delight any creature. 
Two heights, Mosinee and Rib hills, we can see, 

And heartily do we exclaim: 
"It is our plain duty to write of such beauty, 

'Tis a picture without a frame." 

The great brick mill, all athrob and athrill, 

Ts laboring night and day, 
And the wheat is ground as the wheels spin round 

And the waters leap away; 
For down in the deep there can be no sleep, 

The world must have her bread, 
So the water wheel must in darkness reel, 

And turn, that each child be fed. 



^\z lid\s Q>\ *5\vfc Savt e\alTfc, 



Many a beauteous spot has Nature 
Hidden in the forests wide ; 

Such an one of wilder feature 
Is the Eau Claire Dells, our pride. 

Far from daily haunts of men, 

In a rockbound little glen, 

W^here the Eau Claire dashes, splashes, 

47 



THE DELLS OF THE EAU CLAIRE. 

Where the lone king-fisher watches 
From some dead limb drooping low, 
There, my friend, you ought to go. 
Leave your business cares behind you., 
Go where they can never find you ; 
Work not all your days for money, 
Take an outing go where sunny 
Are the paths down past the trees, 
Breathe the ozone in the breeze ; 
Let your muscles have free action, 
Let your eyes note each attraction — 
Then quite willingly you'll be 
Friend to* everything you see: 
Friend to monarchs 'bout you growings 
Friend to rocks, where waters flowing 
Ripple, ripple, laughing long T 
Till they rush with fervor strong 
O'er high ledges, downward pquring 
With a steady, thunderous roaring. 
Friend to blue skies far on high, 

With small fleecy clouds bespotted; 
Friend to earth, where you descry 

Beauteous scenes so thickly dotted. 
Friend to old Sol's balmy rays, 
Friend to ISTature's moods and ways — 
Her acquaintance always pays 
The eye and ear. 

Sixteen miles of travel thither, 
Bring you to the Eau Claire river, 
O'er a road from which are seen 
Farms spread out so fresh and green. 
Past the wooded slopes and valleys, 
From which babbling brooklet sallies: 
Past the grazing sheep and cows, 
Past the lazy, lolling sows — 
Onward still, until the distance 

48 



THE DELLS OF THE EAU CLAIRE. 

Shows a farm of whose existence 
You had heard some time before: 
•'Donahue's!" the sudden roar. 

Soon the driver calls out, "Whoa," 
And from off the seat you go, 
Tired and stiff from hours of riding*, 
But with cheerful thoughts abiding. 
Baskets loaded high with sweets, 
Placed well under the carriage seats, 
Issue from their hiding places, 
Greeting hungry looking faces. 
Then the horses are looked after, 

Taken to the stables near, 
And with jolly talk and laughter 

You out on the road appear. 
Stopping not, you wend your way 
Up the road where treetops sway, 
Where the line of fencing ceases 
And the wilderness increases. 
At your right, with grass o'ergrown, 
Runs a road by tourists known; 
Pretty, cooling, wild, it tells 
You the way down to the dells. 
Into this you turn your steps 
Downward into the woody depths, 
Where the limbs meet overhead, 
Where the wet clay meets your tread. 
Softer still the clay is found 
As you listen for the sound 
Of the Eau Claire's steady falling: 
Hark! you faintly hear it calling 
Even now, and soon you see 
Where the beauteous dells must be. 
Outward from the woods you come 
Into the brightness of the sun; 
And before you lie the river 

49 



TEE DELLS OF THE EAU CLAIRE. 

And its rocks of stately mien, 
Where with many a rush and quiver 
Five small waterfalls are seen. 

Looking up the river far 
Till the view the forests bar, 
You can see the waters gleam 
As they o'er the rocks careen; 
Onward still, they reach the bridge 
Where you stand upon its edge 
Watching the dark depths below 
Into which the waters flow. 
But they do not stop there long, 
Soon they start another song; 
Separating, still they flash 
Onward o'er rock walls to crash. 
One stream branches to the left, 

Under logs framed for a dam, 
Filling there a little cleft 

Where flood trash is wont to jam; 
Opposite, and straight its path, 
Pretty in its pentup wrath, 
Runs the other, small and wild, 
Sparkling, fleecy, undefiled. 
Turning to the right, it falls 
Once again from slippery walls, 
Mingling with the depths succeeding 
Which are forward e'er proceeding. 

But the view which brings surprise, 
Which attracts the tourist's eyes, 
Is the stream of water pouring 
Ceaselessly close by, and roaring 
As it strikes the surface lower, 
Where it boils and foams with power. 
'Tis the stream which fills the cleft 
Down before you to the left; 

5<f 



THE DELLS OF THE EAU CLAIRE. 

And it rushes to the edge 
Of a six or eight foot ledge, 
Plunging o'er it with a measure 
Of Niagara's awful pressure. 
? Tis a view which, when once seen, 
Stirs emotions deej) and keen. 

Standing at the fall, you look 
On before where like a brook 
Waters glisten, still afoam, 
Which between rock walls do roam. 
Closely to the bank they cling 
For a little way, then swing 
Inward toward the parent river 
There to join two falls aquiver, 
W T hich in unison repeat 
Murmurings both soft and sweet 
As they gently lose themselves 
'Mongst the myriad water elves. 

VIEW FROM PORCUPINE LEDGE. 

To appreciate the scene, 
Stand on yonder ledge and glean 
From the waters, rocks and trees 
That which bird's-eye vantage sees. 
As you peer down from its brink 
Straight across the river, think 
Of the many scenes of yore 
Which remembrance holds in store. 
Are there many to compare 
With the beauty found down there? 
Then up river turn your gaze 
Where the sun throws well his rays 
O'er the shifting solitude 
Of the water and the wood. 
Follow with the eye the rush 

51 



THE DELLS OF THE EAU CLAIRE. 

Of the rapids, then their hush 
As they reach the little basin 

Underneath the dellsview bridge, 
There to linger, then to hasten 

Onward to each slippery ledge. 
Dashing over with a fervor 
Which is constant, rumbling ever. 
Centering their forces lower, 
Onward now the waters slower, 
Rippling over shallow passes, 
Lapping at the shoreward grasses, 
Till they're lost around a bend, 
And the dells have reached their end. 

After seeing all the sights, 
Then take thought of appetites; 
Seek the shades of scented baskets, 
For we want no walking caskets 
On a journey of this kind. 
Eat and drink, and never mind 
What your neighbors say, but swallow 
Till you feel no longer hollow. 
As the sun sinks in the west, 

Take a long view of the dells, 
For a second one is blest 

With a rapture which compels 
One to say, from throbbing heart, 
"Pretty Dells, our pride thou art. ? * 



52 



THE DELLS OF THE WISCONSIN. 



Oh. Nature, how we love thy rocks, 

And how we love thy rills! 
And how we love thy mossy walks 

Upon the verdant hills! 

What towering- rocks, so seared, so old, 
Arise their glory to unfold 

At Kilbourn! 
What majesty enshrouds those walls, 
What hallowed pleasure on us falls 

At Kilbourn! 
Great caverns stretching- far away — 
Here almost darkness; there the day, 
And still the rocks do wear away 

At Kilbourn. 
The steamer, with revolving- wheels, 
Around a rocky buttress steals, 
And, looking up and all around, 
We see rare beauties which abound; 
And here and there the stately trees, 
On high, are rustled by the breeze 
Which, filled with ozone from the woods 
As changing as are Nature's moods, 
Gives ardor to expanding lungs 
And throbbing heart at Kilbourn. 

artists' glen. 

A beauty spot is Artists' Glen, 
Especially beauteous was it when 
With rasping shoes we walked the rocks 
Along the old, much-trodden walks. 
The sun shone down from upper space 
And lit the glen in every place; 

53 



THE DELLS OF THE WISCONSIN. 

The walls rose high on either side 
And in them little caves we 'spied; 
The mosses clung to tiers of rock, 
And, up above, the trees would block 
The open. — Yes, how grand the sight 
At Artists' Glen near Kilbourn! 

COLD WATER CANYON. 

Cold Water Canyon is a place 
Almost o'erflowed with watery space. 
A plank walk lifted 'bove the stream 
Extends before, where wilds are seen. 
The waters gleam and rush below 
As onward 'tween the walls we go, 
And all the time we seem to hear 
The voice of Nature speaking near: 
"Dear friends, I leave this place to men 
And to the poet's liquid pen; 
May both see here the works of God 
In rock and stream, in tree and sod." 

ON THE RIVER. 

The steamer, loaded down once more, 

Moves slowly from the rockbound shore, 

And, puffing, throbbing, makes its way 

Between the walls majestically. 

From view to view we cast our eyes, 

To rocks of ever growing size, 

Until, far up the river's blue, 

Is seen an opening, and through 

Its wide expanse we see afar 

To where the uncut forests are. 

We near the end; the rocks decrease, 

The lines of cliff abruptly cease; 

The steamer anchors close beside 

An overhanging rock, the pride 

54 



THE DELLS OF THE WISCONSIN. 

Of all the cliffs, a lookout high 
From whose broad top we shall descry 
The wooded country and the hills, 
The river just below which fills 
The valley. But we're anchored now, 
And people leave the steamer's bow, 
And, passing o'er a floating walk, 
Soon reach the sandy shore, and talk 
And laughter mount to summer skies, 
And Witches' Gulch about us lies. 

THE WITCH'S FACE. 

So weird, so wan, that wizard face 
Looks out and up toward heavenly space. 
Rameses like, it has been spared 
Through ages, but has better fared 
Than he who ruled so long ago 
In Egypt. We should like to know 
The secrets of that stony brow, 
Which looks the witch e'en more so now. 
A wooden arrow marks the place 
Where may be seen the witch's face. 

THE WITCHES' GULCH. 

A well-worn path extending past 

The witch's face, brings us at last 

To where the caverns underground 

Lead through the rock, where is the sound 

Of falling water. Here a spring 

Fills up a cleft, a little thing, 

But cool, refreshing, sparkling, pure, 

Its waters serve to tourists lure. 

Still onward through the depths we find 

The Devil's Jug quite well defined; 

No doubt 'tis here the witches meet 

To talk, and sing, and dance, and treat. 

55 



THE COUNTRY. 



Revere you not the grassy green of country farm and 

meadow? 
I love to lie and meditate within a great tree's shadow. 
The twittering birds on high overhead are ever on the 

nutter, 
And sweet is the sound of rasping limbs as they stretch 

themselves and mutter. 

The henhawk, with its widespread wings, in spiral circles 
floating, 

Looks down upon the earth below, then sudden is its 
darting; 

Through air it pierces like a bolt of lightning in its flash- 
ing, 

Its prey is caught and upward borne with body torn and 
bleeding. 

Away it goes through space, away, and heavy is the 

burden 
That hangs between the earth and sky — the hawk is 

heavy laden. 
The hawklets in their nest await the coming of their 

mother, 
A piercing cry reverberates at sight of any other. 

A squirrel chatters in a tree where nuts are falling 

thickly; 
Another, frisking on the ground, jumps here and there so 

quickly; 
A partridge drums in yonder copse a roll to rouse the 

sleeping, 
And here and there, from holes and rocks, the chipmunks' 

heads are peeping. 

56 



THE COUNTRY. 

Majestic woods, ye hoary seers that strew the earth in 

numbers! 
The lightnings flashed, the winds did blow, accompanied 

by thunders; 
Thy roots beneath were cracked and torn by all the 

mighty powers, 
Till, with bowed heads, ye fell to earth to die on through 

the hours. 

To dust thy trunks shall e'en return as Time is onward 

sweeping; 
Decay is law in Nature's book, we all observe its keeping. 
Life lives on here a little while, then leaves the world 

forever, 
But we look forth to future life which naught can ever 

sever. 

The country, yes, how pleasant are its trees and rolling 

meadows; 
The farmer's plow cuts through the soil to leave great 

gaping furrows; 
The cows are lowing o'er the way, the pigs in mud do 

wallow; 
The barns re-echo back the cry of nervous wren and 

swallow. 

'Tis country air that stirs the lungs and gives the heart 

new beating; 
'Tis country woods that bow their head,s in salutary 

greeting: 
The country is the place for me; when worn in life and 

weary, 
From city streets I'll hie to fields and woods, where all is 

cheery. 



57 



TIS WONDERFUL, THIS LOVE. 



'Tis wonderful, this love that undented 

Spurs high ambition in man from a child, 

Develops latent powers in his soul, 

And bids him ever seek an honored goal. 

From mothers knee he learns its subtle powers, 

And dreams upon it through his boyish hours, 

Kissing responsive lips from day to day — 

His dearest sweetheart, though her hair be gray. 

The gushing of love's influence fills his heart, 

And makes the pulses of some maiden start, 

Who comes in contact with the love of man, 

Appreciating it as woman can. 

He speaks the word, the maiden answers yes, 

And two souls settle down to happiness. 

An aged man is sitting in a chair, 
Lines mark his features, and the frost his hair. 
He breathes upon the. coals of memory's fire, 
And thinks back o'er the years when men aspire. 
All is summed up, success has crowned his life, 
He owes it to his children and his wife. 
May blessings rest upon the head of her 
Whose earthly form lies in yon sepulcher. 



58 



THE COALS. 
1$\z CoaVs. 



Oh. the brightly blazing coals. — 
Glowing coals! 
What a world of thought they stir within our souls! 
How they sparkle, sparkle, sparkle. 

In the darkness of the night! 
While the flames that 'bove them quiver 
Drive the cold out and the shiver 

With their leapings of delight; 
Keeping time, time, time, 
In a sort of wizard rhyme 
To the crackling laugh that issues from the Ghouls 
In the coals, coals, coals, coals, 
Coals, coals, coals, — 
In the inner, heaving caverns of the coals. 

See the mellow, livid coals, — 
Fervid coals! 
What a world of care their tropic heat consoles! 
On a frosty winter night, 
How they tremble with their might! 
From the molten, golden pile, 

And all combine, 
What a wave of warmth does smile 
On the weary one that lingers there to while 
Away the time! 
Oh, from out the swelling cells 
What a gush of heat is lifted! how it wells! 
How it burns! 
How it spurns 
The cold North Wind! How it turns 
All to pleasure! And it squirms 
Through the sparkling and the crackling 
Of the coals, coals, coals, 

59 



THE COALS. 

Of the coals, coals, coals, coals, 
Coals, coals, coals,— 
Through the sparkling and the crackling of the coals. 

What a pleasure watching coals, — 
Throbbing coals! 
What a reverie of thought upon us rolls! 

How we look down through the past, 
Think of the present, future, — last! 
And, too mystrified to speak, 
W 7 e but shudder while we seek 
Destiny. 
In a study we are looking at the fire, 
It is roaring, leaping higher and still higher, — 
Leaping, leaping, leaping higher, 
Creeping, creeping, creeping higher, 
With a desperate desire 
In its soul. 
How it glows with mad endeavor 

As it leaps! 
How it moves and shudders ever 

As it sleeps! 
As each separate dying ember 

Throws its ghost upon the floor, 
So the scenes which .we remember 
Throw their ghosts our eyes before. 
Oh, the coals, coals, coals! 
What a realm .of thought enfolds 

Every beam! 
How they tell of days gone by! 
How they make us weep and sigh! 
Coals are keen. 
But they tell us, too, of joy, 

Tell of days of boundless pleasure, 
Tell of children searching treasure: 
You a girl, and me a boy. 

Oh, the coals, coals, coals! 

60 



SING ME A SONG, ETC 

How distinctly from them rolls 
All the history of our childhood, 
All our travels in the wildwood, 

From the coals, coals, coals, coals. 
Coals, coals, coals, — 
Prom the reminiscent fervor in the coals! 



6 S'uvq ~l&z 3V Sow$ MD'OcVv 3V ll\ra\Vimlca\ Svohq, 



O sing- me a song- with a rhythmical swing, 
With notes that are sweet and prolonged; 

Let it rise in its grandeur as dove on the wing 
To etherial spaces star-thronged. 

Let it sail on the breezes above and around, 

Let it palpitate, surge and away; 
Let it echo, re-echo, a resonant sound — 

A perfect and rhythmical lay. 

And then let it sink into stillness and hush, 

Into silence as lone as the tomb; 
Again let it rise, let it swell, let it rush, 

Dispelling the in-lurking gloom. 

O Mind, canst thou not fashion music and rime 

Into measures unheard of before? 
Canst thou not fashion metre, and rhythm, and rhyme 

Into stanzas excelling the more? 

Haste, Genius, make haste, for the nations await 

An effort supreme and whole-souled — 
An effort whose force shall be felt, which shall state 

Aspirations of being untold. 

61 



THERE IS MUSIC IN WORDS. 

Can Mind be chained down? Is there that which might bar 

His pilgrimage into the skies? 
Is there that which might hide away glories afar 

From the prayerful beseeching of eyes? 

Yon clouds, and yon stars, and yon deepness of blue — 

O vastness, unmeasured, unspanned! 
Can Mind e'en imagine his piercing up through 

Such beauties and mysteries grand? 

But Genius, canst thou not break forth into space 

And traverse dim distance along? 
Canst thou not bring down from remoteness of place 

A perfect and rhythmical song? 



^Vvexei Ss ^usvo &tv ADoy&s. 



There is music in words, — 

A power unseen, 
But felt by the listening soul; 
Like throbbing of bells 
It sinks and it swells, 
Sweet music pained hearts to console. 
A power divine 
In every line, — 
Sweet music. What melodies roll! 

There is music in words, — 

A metrical strain 
That vibrates from delicate wires; 
Now softly repeating 
Its message, its greeting, 
It soars from thought's resonant lyres. 
Now grandly it rises 

62 



UNWRITTEN THOUGHTS. 

With passion's surprises, 
And tells of the heart's pure desires. 

There is music in words. — 

A rhythm of sound 
That issues from depths of emotion; 
Through song- we are lifted 
To thoughts that are gifted, 
To thoughts that express love's dovotion. 
Oh, musical words! 
The warble of birds 
Surpasses but little thy motion. 

There is music in words, — 

Our silvery tongue, 
Our English, the language of nations. 
In prose and in verse 
It is musical, terse, 
Abounding with thoughtful creations. 
Oh wonderful tongue 
With eloquence strung, 
We thrill when we feel thy pulsations! 



AXtvxbtyYUtv *5\vo>x^\v\s. 



Unwritten thoughts, those coursing through 

The ever busy brain; 
Ah, we all feel them, strongly, too, — 

Their influence, their strain. 
How broad their scope, what heights they soar! 

They lead us on and on; 
Some thrill us to the very core, 

And then, too soon, are gone. 

63 



UNWRITTEN THOUGHTS. 

Unwritten thoughts 1 What scenes untold 

Have passed before our eyes! 
What thoughts from realms of space have rolled 

To us from cloudy skies! 
Think of the sullen thunders' roar, 

The rushing of the wind; 
Think of the raindrops' steady pour, 

The lightnings' flashes lined. 

Unwritten thoughts! With mysteries 

They have tried hard to cope; 
The universe holds histories 

Which lie beyond man's scope. 
Think of the many whizzing spheres 

Unseen by earthly eye: 
On all sides, space. Life's fleeting years 

Would know the "Whence?" and ''Why?" 

Communion with these thoughts has made 

In us a grander soul, 
Whose reasoning on all is laid 

To comprehend the whole; 
And, finite though our minds may be, 

We come to understand 
The higher One, in whom we see 

The Love, the True, the Grand. 

Imagination, piercing all, 

Would measure lofty space, 
And o'er the snowcapped mountains tall 

Would soar from place to place. 
Imagination wings its way 

Beyond the bounds of night, 
Far up to where the angels stray, 

Where all is radiant light. 

64 



AUTUMN. 

Your thoughts, my thoughts, untouched by pen, 

Some human, some divine, 
Are forming characters of men, 

In whom they're sure to twine. 
Unwritten thoughts! A little child 

Shall lead this world, 'tis said, 
In whom there is thought undefiled, 

And purity inbred. 

Unwritten thoughts! Abhor the base, 

And cling to but the pure; 
Unwritten thoughts shall save the race 

To peacefulness secure. 
Unwritten thoughts in each man's heart 

Shall save the world from ban, 
And usher in, to ne'er depart, 

The brotherhood of man. 



3\Axtctmw. 



The chilling winds are whistling through the trees, 
And bearing colored swarms of light away; 

The clouds are sailing swiftly on the breeze, 
The sun sheds not a single golden ray. 

The glowing fire throws its light and heat 
Through fiery, moulten eyes of mica clear, 

And spectre forms move swiftly down the street 
To friends and homes, to all that's close and dear. 

The autumn leaves bring groaning, creaking sounds. 

And wailing winds, and banging, crashing doors; 
And through the woods rush headlong deer and hounds, 

While on the wind the rifle's deep voice roars. 

65 



AUTUMN. 

The silent forest, drooping with its weight 

Of changing colors, is a splendid sight; 
Its aged trees, like monarchs dressed in state, 

Loom up, proud of their mighty strength and height 

The ground on which the cunning squirrels play, 
Is cushioned with its yearly, fall supply; 

The rodents store their hard-earned food away, 
And yonder cawing crows go sweeping by. 

The melancholy days are here 'tis true, 

But still a pleasure broods o'er field and wood; 

The changing garb of Nature, ever new, 
Is interesting w r hen it is understood. 

Both Spring and Summer untold joys unfold, 
And lend their perfume to the balmy air; 

While Autumn, with her fields of gleaming gold, 
Throws to the light her tinted beauties rare. 

Then Winter clothes in silence every leaf, 
And throws a mantle over hill and plain; 

The torpid germs, for months, lie underneath 
This white shroud, waiting for new life again. 

Yes, Autumn bears a song on every breeze, 
And seeks our melancholy hearts to cheer; 

We'll weave a crown of pretty forest leaves 
For her, the buxom lassie of the year. 



66 



APRIL. 



A melancholy spirit broods o'er field and wood tonight. 
Hear the splashing and the gurgling as the raindrop hosts 

alight; 
Hear the clatter on the shingles on the roof above the 

head, — 
We shall linger yet a little ere we hie ourselves to bed. 

Sitting quietly, we listen to the sounds from out the 

gloom, 
Everything is snug and cozy here within the lighted 

room; 
In the stove there is a fire, but outside, how damp, how 

cold! 
We are thankful for oar comforts, and how bountiful all 

told! 

April, though thy skies do threaten and thy winds do 
buffet, whirl, 

Though thermometers do vary as they're caught within 
the swirl, 

Though the weather-signal's statement says "fair, warm- 
er," should be k 'rain," 

Still we welcome thee in springtime o'er and o'er, and o'er 
again. 

And we welcome thee in spirit and in truth this very 

night, 
Hoping that thy richest blessing may upon us now alight: 
May thy showers, earth-refreshing, cause the throb of 

life to start 
In the shrubbery and flowers, in the trees, — in Nature's 

heart. 

67 



APRIL. 

Earth shall praise thee as she cultivates the verdure- 
sprouting- hills, 

As she listens to the music of the rivers and the rills, 

As she hears the joyous carol of the northward-coming- 
birds: 

And the poet, too, shall praise thee with the music of his 
words. 

What a time it is for musing- and for solitary thought! 
There is a wild inspiration in our souls from heaven 

caught; 
There is something in the atmosphere that tickles every 

nerve, 
Life is now on the ascendant, it is on the upward curve. 

We begin to think of matter, following* that we think of 

space, 
On and on our minds are rushing, meeting problems face 

to face; 
Destiny we try to fathom in the misty years before, 
Listen! is the only answer from the rain outside the door? 

Only answer? Not the only, for deep down within the 

soul 
Is a voice that sweetly whispers, "On before there is a 

goal;" 
"It is death," we answer sadly, "'tis oblivion's musty 

halls," 
But the voice still sweetly whispers, ' 'There is life when 

Jesus calls." 

Thanks to God that he has given ns to know his higher 

sphere, 
That we grow in faith and knowledge as we pass from 

year to year; 
We can know there is a future as we know there is a past; 
As we know there is a present, so we know there is a last. 

68 



BUILD UP. YOUTH. 

And that "last, 17 how boundless is it! home of peace and 

joy and rest, — 
Finite minds cannot reveal it, what is waiting- for the 

blest; 
Contemplation leads us deeper: mysteries of the universe! 
Golden grains of sweet communion we would fain weave 

in our verse. 

April, as thou bring-est tidings of the summers warming- 
breath, 

As thou spreadest out thy sunshine over g-erms as still as 
death, 

As thou wakest up the torpid over all the moistened 
earth — 

So our lives are like thee, April, we, too, have a second 
birth. 

Still the rain, like sullen thuuder, splashes, gurgles over- 
head, 

And the dripping-, dripping-, dripping- is heard from both 
house and shed. 

What a pleasure to contemplate, with a philosophic mind, 

Questions that are stirring millions, hearts and souls of 
all mankind! 



"BuvU Alp, 6 ^outtv. 



"Youth is the favorable time for achievement in any line of 
endeavor." 

O heedless brain, arouse thyself, 

Exert thy noblest powers, 
Leave sinew to the baser life 

As in its cave it cowers. 

69 



BUILD UP, YOUTH. 

Build up, O youth, thy higher self, 

Thy intellectual tissue, 
That from its depths, by Genius framed,' 

Immortal thoughts may issue. 

Build up that which enhances life 

And makes a man the stronger; 
Build up, build up — some brawn, more mind. 

The latter lasts the longer. 

Build up that which will move the world 

And make its mortals better; 
Build up, — remove from some dark soul 

A curse, a thrall, a fetter. 

O youth, you little know your strength. 

You little know your mission; 
You little know what power you have 

To move, to change condition. 

You little know how great you are, 

How subtle are your forces; 
How much depends upon your life 

And the channels which it courses. 

Think of those who have won renown 

That shall be everlasting — 
Young men whose dauntless wills have wrought 

A monumental casting. 

John Keats— his memory shall live 

Though countless generations; 
An iron purpose ruled his soul. 

And now he's loved by nations. 

An iron purpose — yours and mine — 
Will not pass by unheeded, 

70' 



MIND. 

Tis what the world is looking- for 
And what it long- has needed. 

Oh. may the girls and boys feel this : 

That life is more than living ; 
That what we do and what we dare 

Unmeasured strength are giving. 

And with that strength come noble thoughts, 

And noble aspirations. 
And high resolves, and senses keen, 

And sterner contemplations. 

As is the child, so is the youth — 

We get the child to thinking, 
Then youth, and later on the man, 

Will thought on thought be linking. 

"My mind to me a kingdom is" — 

How true is that quotation! 
The realms of thought are reached by steps, 

By efforts in rotation. 

Build up, O youth, thy higher self ; 

Brute sinew goes forever ; 
Brain tissue moves the world today, 

And youth acts as its lever. 



^ucvd. 



O Mind ! O Sage, how much thou hast been altered 

Since thy first op'ning hour ! 
At times thou hast met obstacles and faltered. 

Thy weakness formed thy power. 

71 



THY TALENT. 

Development, expansion stirred thy cells — 

A treasure cave thou art, 
In which thy thoughts, like great artesian wells, 

Stream from thy swelling heart. 

What flashing gems, surpassing earthly yield, 

Now face thy length'ning halls ! 
Thy genius fain would compass every field, 

Extending still thy walls. 

What weighty problems thou hast often held 

Within thy veiled dome ! 
O what a triumph Victory has yelled 

In thy eternal home I 

The sting of death can never reach thy tower. 

Thou hast a firm support ; 
Thy soul before grim Death shall never cower, 

God is thy endless Fort. 

Commune with good I O Mind, lift up thine eyes! 

Thy God adoreth thee; 
Thy spiritual wings shall bear thee to the skies. 

Where thou shalt live and be. 



*5\i^ ^aVewl 



There's a talent in you, brother, 

Waiting for the light of day; 
Know you that it's mighty, brother, 

If you bring it into play? 
Darkness cannot it develop, 

You must bring it to the light, 
Else oblivion will envelop 

It in folds forever tight. 

72 



THE TALENT: 

Bring thy talent out, my brother. 

Try its height and breadth and length 
Bring to pass fond hopes of mother. 

Who oft doted on thy strength. 
You will never find the limit 

At which, resting, you can say, 
"I have used all there is in it, 

All my talent could convey." 



Use thy blessed talent, brother, 

For the good of God and man; 
Use it, for there's not another 

Measures with it in the land; 
Use it while thy youthful vigor 

Throbs and gushes through thy frame; 
Use it now with strong- endeavor, 

Carving- more than this — a name. 

4 'New occasions teach new duties," 

Is a truth well acted here; 
Men are finding out new beauties 

As occasions new appear. 
Talent ever is the ruler 

Over change and circumstance: 
It will conquer, fail will never 

If you give it half a chance. 

Know you that the vailant'leaders 

Of the world have been the men 
Who have been the talent feeders? 

Would you seek to be-like them? 
Do you want to be a credit 

To the country of thy birth? 
Do you want to fame inherit 

With the powerful of earth? 



OPPOR T UNITIES. 

Yes, you do: bring- out thy talent 

Where the throb of life resounds: 
Bring it out, thy unused talent, 

Where the light of day abounds; 
Bring it out, and use it, brother, 

Use its resurrected life — 
You can do that which another 

Could not do with constant strife. 



Qwottaiivtves. 



Did you ever feel a grandeur 

In your ever groping soul? 
Did you ever have a craving 

For a higher better goal? 
Did you put your force in action 

When you saw a brighter light? 
Or, not up to work and battle, 

Did you let it sink from sight? 

Opportunities are passing, 

We must use them while we may 
They stay not at our own bidding, 

They may swiftly pass away. 
Many lives are barred from honor 

Just because they simply lack 
What philosophers call backbone, 

Running midway down the back. 

Homely illustrations answer 
Better, many times, than those 

Having something highly English, 
Whether poetry or prose; 

For we like to see the simple, 

74 



A PRAYER 

Something- we can understand. 
And the truth takes root down deeper 
In the soil beneath the sand. 

We must keep our eyes wide open 

In this world of human strife. 
See and grasp the things which help us 

To a broader, fuller life. 
If we do this, we shall gather 

For ourselves a worthy name, 
And shall stand upon an altar 

Wrought by characters of fame. 

Onward then, and see not failure, 

Trample it beneath your feet; 
Let not doubting thoughts molest you. 

Overcome whate'er you meet; 
Lastly, place your trust in Heaven, 

He will surely make all right; 
Good shall triumph over evil, 

Victory shall crown thy fight. 



3V Yxa^eiT, 



Great God, thou carest for the sun. 
The moon, the stars — immortal One ! 
If thou dost care for such on high, 
Thou, surely, wilt not pass us by 
W T ho bear an image like to thine. 
Though mortal. Spirit outlives time. 
So may we live, in life's brief space, 
That we may see thee face to face. 

75 



WE KNOW, ETC. 



Life's path is oft-times weary, overbearing"; 
The joys and woes thereof each one is sharing*. 
Througii all, we know a joy will crush a sorrow; 
We know that sunshine pierces darkest shadow: 
We know that life is worth a righteous living-; 
We know in whom we trust, 'tis He we're serving- 
Ah, life should then be more than dim existence; 
It should be joy and peace, in love persistence. 



^We Ss 3V Tk<m&. 



There is a bond uniting* 

The hearts of mortal frames, 
We sympathize with others 

Although a blank their names. 
Thank God ! we love our helpmates, 

Our relatives, our friends ; 
Thank God ! we're mourned by others 

W^hen life on this earth ends. 



76 



ANCESTRY, ETC 



The years pass by, become a part of the past. 

And man's remains to mother earth are cast ; 

He dieth as the flower of the field. 

Life's mortal petals close, remaining sealed. 

But seed springs up, perpetuating name. 

Perpetuating honor, wealth or fame. 

The ages roll, their rhythm keeping time 

To universal law : His will divine. 

McKay succeeds McKay — a daughter, son, 

Each working, planning till life's course is run ; 

Each shedding bitter tears of woe and pain ; 

Each smiling as the sunshine follows rain. 

Mark yonder old, inscriptioned stones which rise 

White as the fleecy clouds that dot the skies. 

Ancestral fathers sleep beneath the sod, — 

Ancestral fathers, kith and kin and blood. 



*5\ve, ~fcU\» C\v\xtc\v 



O sacred pile of brick and wood, 

My heart is wrapped in thee ; 
Thy mission here is but for good, 

Thy goal, eternity. 
Thy windows, walls and towers inspire 

Ten thousand thoughts of Him, 
Who, girt about with ceaseless fire, 

To eye is still so dim. 

77 



THE NEW CHURCH, ETC. 

We gaze up at the starry skies, 

And marvel at their blue, 
And yet, beyond, who can surmise 

The beauties veiled from view ? 

Stay, mind, commune with goodly thoughts. 

And roam the universe ; 
Too soon this God-made image rots 

For better or for worse. 
.Take time to study what you are, 

And what you yet shall be; 
No man but Christ is free from mar, 

Or sin's impurity. 
Yon sacred pile points to His throne 

Whose scepter rules the world; 
Within yon walls His love is shown, 

And Satan from us hurled 

List to the strains of music, man, 

Which throb with melody; 
What sermons can't do, music can 

To lift one spiritually. 
Step in and rest in oaken pew, 

And bid farewell to care; 
Let thoughts, before not felt by you, 

Your heart examine there; 
And when the piping reeds proclaim 

Emotions of your soul, 
Resolve to work with higher aim, 

To reach a nobler goal. 

Pipe-organ, many a heart finds peace 
While pregnant with thy tones; 

The baser man finds his release, 
And inwardly he groans. 

He makes resolves before his G-od 

To change his downward course — 

«. 

78 



THE NEW CHURCH, ETC. 

What profit is the world's applaud 

If devils reign in force? 
He feels a peace steal o'er his brow 

Which thrills each inmost nerve: 
Hear yonder strains of triumph now 

Speak praises, curve on curve! 

"Praise God. from whom all blessings flow! 
Praise him, all creatures here below! 
Praise him above, ye heavenly host! 
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!' 7 

The music ceases, but its spell 

Is left upon the heart, 
Preparing- with its droop and swell 

The way for Reason's part. 
The Scripture read, the quartette sings 

A hymn so old yet sweet — 
; 'Nearer, My God, To Thee;" it brings 

Us nearer to His feet. 
And then the pastor's prayer is heard 

Ascending to the throne: 
What comfort in "The meanest bird 

Our God will not disown." 

Another song is sung, and then 

The pastor's text is read, — 
A single passage, yet old men 

Have not its all half said. 
Thought follows thought in nice array. 

Connected and refined; 
Effective, too, in youth so gay 

And in maturer mind. 
We gaze upon the faces near, 

And note their softened lines: 
Oh, Book of books, from thee comes cheer. 

From thee, that which refines! 

79 



THE NEW CHURCH, ETC 

The sermon ends, a prayer is said. 

The organ peals again; 
A hymn, by grand emotions fed, 

Upheaves the hearts of men. 
Who feels no struggling impulse rise 

Within his tingling frame ? 
Who thinks our God hears not our cries 

For help — who, since Christ came ? 
Not one, if he is living right, 

And studies well the W T ord: 
W 7 ho humbly kneels and prays for might, 

In higher realms is heard. 

A silence broods: all heads are bowed: 

The pastor's hand is raised. 
The benediction said, the crowd 

Disperses; then, amazed, 
We listen to the rise and fall 

Of organ tones sublime, 
W T hich. bounding forth from wall to wall, 

Would up to freedom climb. 
We listen till the metal throats 

Have piped their triumph song, 
And till the closing, tender notes 

Have joined the grander throng. 

AN AFTER THOUGHT. 

Oh, could the soul of man achieve 

The aspirations grand, 
Which stir his being and conceive 

Positions of -command ! 
Could strength of will predominate 

O'er sloth in brawn and brain, 
High«walls would rise against grim Fate, 
Man would not strive in vain. 

80 



A MESSAGE FROM HANS SPOOPEXDIKE. 

Unhampered, he would rise to that 

For which his being prays, 
And realize his visions at 

Old age's lessening- days. 



Youva\o\»s\d, 



WHO RECENTLY ATTENDED ONE OF OUR CHRISTIAN 
ENDEAVOR MEETINGS. 

Vile valking up der street von eve 

Unt seeing- all der sig-hts, 
I passed by close avay to a church 

All blitzen mit der lig-hts, 
Unt from der inside came der strains 

Of voices in sweet song, 
Vich made me tink of childhood's days 

So many years vonce gone. 
I stopped unt viped mine eyes avay 

Mit tears vat came so fast, 
Unt den I valked into dot church 

Mit heart-beats beating fast. 

A young man stopped me at der door 

Unt gift me a leedle card, 
Vich said "Swy Pistol Vat Peter Von," 

Unt den it said "Och, Nein." 
Anoder feller goes like dis 

Mit his finger in der air, 
Unt I steps tiptoe up der aisle 

Unt sits me in von chair. 
A pretty girl vas next to me, 

81 



A MESSAGE FROM HANS SPOOPENDIKE. 

Who looked me mit a smile, 
Unt gift me over a singing- book 
In regular Sherman style. 

Ve spieled some song's zaen minuten or so, 

Unt den a feller comes 
Unt reads out of der Goot Book nice 

To us, der listening vones, 
Unt den he lays der book aside 

Unt looks straight down at me, 
Vile talking- of der life vat is, 

Unt vat it is to be. 
I felt mine heart grow young* again 

As every vord was said, 
Unt new tings came into mine soul 

Unt shumped into mine head. 

Veil, soon pretty quick der young man stopped 

Unt said, "Now every von 
Feels pretty goot like taking part, 

For here, I tink, T'm done." 
He set himself down in his chair, 

Unt den I looked around, 
But quieter it never vas, 

I could not hear von sound. 
Unt den as if so far avay 

I heered a leedle voice : 
Mine gracious, ven dat girl's at play, 

I tink she makes some noise. 

But pretty soon a feller stands 

Unt grabs der chair in front, 
Unt chokes a couple of hundred times, 

But come dose vords they von't. 
He coughed as if he had der heaves, 

Shust like mine old gray mare, 
Unt awful vas der look he had, 

82 



A MESSAGE FROM HANS SPOOPENDIKE. 

Der pit of grim despair. 
Den, looking down, he caught der vords 

Unt spoke straight from der heart ; 
He did der best vatever he could, 

At least he took some part. 

But some dere vere said not von vord, 

Unt sat dere very still, 
Vile soon some oders shumped up quick 

Der fleeting time to fill. 
I tells you vat it did me goot 

To hear dose young folks talk, 
I knew dot they vere standing on 

A mighty solid rock. 
But ven der sentence prayers were said, 

I pricked mine ears to hear, 
Unt only vonce or twice a vord 

Came out quite strong unt clear. 

Unt den dot organ, say dot vas 

Der vorst I never heered; 
It squeaked, unt sneezed, unt wheezed, unt freezed 

Der blood right in your veins. 
Der girl vat played dot organ blushed 

Shust like von dimpled rose, 
Unt every time der pedals moved 

Dot awful racket goes. 
I likes to hear der young folks sing, 

But not mit such a tings; 
I tink it hurts der meetings, 

Unt it hurts der angels' vings. 

At last ve stood unt sung von song, 

"Blest be der tie vat binds," 
Vich made der blood leap in mine heart, 

Dot fellowship of minds. 
Unt den vas said der closing prayer, 

83 



WHEN ONE IS ALL ALONE. 

Unt ven I turned around, 
It seemed dot everybody's hand 

A happy squeezing^ found. 
Dot's vat I liked eggspecialiy veil, 

Der social spirit rare, 
Unt ven I comes to town again, 

I tink I vill go dere. 

(Read at a Christian Endeavor banquet on Jan. 3d, 1902. ) 



^Vveu ©tve is 3VW SVVowe. 



When one is all alone within 

The confines of his room. 
Where books and pictures thoughts would win 

And drive away the gloom 
Which sometimes clusters round the heart, 

Then is it man feels small: 
He thinks beyond life's busy mart, 

And hears sweet voices call. 

He lives again the days of old, 

When mother pressed his lips; 
When ever onward fortune rolled 

Before his finger tips. 
He sees a barefoot boy again 

Build castles in the sand, 
Who thrills with aspirations then, 

And has his life all planned. 

But down the years he plods his way, 

And, with each setting sun, 
Finds that a mystery holds sway 

O'er everything begun. 

84- 



THAT DEAR WORD. 

Results, it seems, do not agree 
With boyhood's happ¥ dreams, 

And what is now, and what shall be, 
Are broad, diverging- streams. 

And, looking- toward the future's goal, 

He wonders what is there; 
Will wealth, position, honor roll 

Toward him? Will Fate be fair? 
One boy, full-grown, sits pondering 

These questions well tonig-ht, 
But silence meets his wondering - . 

No answer comes to light. 

A higher power hovers near 

To one with pure desires, 
He should but trust; away with fear! 

Let Energy build fires 
To forge a chain of circumstance 

Which bides no lagging spirit; 
With confidence step out, advance — 

Your future? Never fear it. 



*5\va\ Dear "\Dot&. 



Of all the words that thrill the soul, 
Of all the words that through time roll 
Of all the words that can console, 
It is the one word, mother. 

Immortal, word that means no end, 
Eternity — these two words blend — 
E'en these in loving homage bend 

To that grand, pure word, mother. 

85 



A DROP IN A BUCKET. 

The cooing- babe, on hands and knees, 
Crawls o'er the floor,*no harm it sees ; 
A cry is heard, borne on the breeze. 
It means that dear word, mother. 

When sickness pales the upturned face. 
When inward doubtings truth displace, 
Of all the words that harm erase 
It is the one word, mother. 

The word that soothes our flowing- tears, 
The word that drives away our fears, 
The word that keeps us through the years 
Is that same gem-word, mother. 

When Death comes with a stealthy tread. 
And lays his hand upon her head, 
Oh tears, from throbbing bosom shed, 
You lisp the one word, mother. 

We look upon her noble brow, 

We feel her worth and grandeur now ; 

In silent prayer our heads we bow, 

And bless that dear word, mother. 



3V Dtov &v ^ Itactait. 



We stood on a street in Chicago, 
And saw throngs of people pass by, 

W T ho walked in a hurry, with nerves in a flurry, 
While we stood with wondering eye. 

We saw people pale from their labor, 
Worn out by perusal of books ; 

For them we did sigh, to them we would cry. 

86 



MOONLIGHT OX LAKE MICHIGAN. 

"Go slow and preserve your good looks/' 
We saw clerks with care-laden faces ; 

We saw maids who worked in hotels — 
Society women, young men who looked trim in 

Fine suits ; and we saw pretty belles. 
Amid all the shifting confusion, 

The cable cars rushed here and there 
Well loaded, bells ringing, their human freight bringing 

From suburbs and homes everywhere. 
We looked up at sky-piercing buildings, 

Which frowned on the streets down below, 
And dizzy with all, we felt very small, 

Like a drop in a bucket, you know. 






The steamer swings out from Chicago's black shore line, 
And pushes its way o'er the low, rippling waves; 

The engine's great pulse beats, and outward, still outward. 
The vessel is forced, while its prow foams and raves. 

Light breezes brush gently against our cool faces 
As, seated, we watch the great city afar, 

Where chimneys, and buildings, and ships' masts are 
pointing 
High up through the blackness where coal gases are. 

The Government Pier stretches 'long indistinctly, 
And out on its point the low light-house is seen; 

Its red eye sweeps quickly across the dark waters, 
And sailors are glad, for its warning is keen. 

87 



MOONLIGHT ON LAKE MICHIGAN 

The moon, which till now behind smoke wreaths has hidden, 
Moves suddenly into a clear space on high, 

And sheds its bright beams in a pathway of glory 
Upon the lake's surface, as we're passing by. 

We gaze to the eastward, and there faintly flicker 
The lights of a vessel which moves toward the south: 

Its outlines are dim, but it looks like a freighter, 
And masses -of smoke close its funnel's great mouth. 

The stars lend their presence to add to the beauties 
Which captivate all as we sit on the deck; 

The smoke of the city is gone, and we linger 

Where freedom from striving is kept well in check. 

But mind! Is it free from the strife and the labor? 

Can it be oblivions to water and sky? 
A thousand times no; it is vigilant, busy 

In pondering, and asking the wherefore and why. 

Deep silence reigns far underneath and above us, 
The only sound heard is the engine's dull thud; 

The steamer's great hulk is aquiver with motion, 
And forging ahead o'er the lake's heaving flood. 

Close by, to the north, is a low-lying blackness 

Which stretches along like a shroud hung in space; 

We enter it, feel a cool breath press our features, 
And slowly pass on, while the moon hides its face. 

We ride on the wind, so it seems to our senses, 
And breathe a sweet mixture of liquid and air; 

Like ether, it makes our eyes heavy with dreaming, 
And whispers of sleep and oblivion fair. 

But lo! it is clearing, the atmosphere lightens, 
The moon sheds its glories upon us once more; 

88 



THE JOHNSON FAMILY AT THE FAIR. 

The lake lies before us, around us, behind us, 
And far away is the quite indistinct shore. 

Calm midnight broods o'er us; we walk to the stairway 
Which leads to our staterooms, where sleep shall abound. 

But see, oh, the beauty! It moves us to rapture, 
And fain would we linger where peace is profound. 

Our heads touch the pillows, and soon we are dreaming-, 

And drifting- away to a region of bliss. 
"Can heaven be better, can heaven be greater, 

Can heaven be grander," we question, "than this?" 



*5\ve> ^oVuvsow 'SamiYv} H\ ^Ke. *5a\r. 



(World's Columbian Exposition, 1893.) 

O, the train pressed brakes at "Midway,' 

And the crowd came rushing out 
On the platformed Illinois station 

TilJ it shook, though it was stout; 
And amid the mass of people 

Stood a negro and his wife, 
And their son and little daughter, 

Full of mischief, full of life. 

They had come from far-off Richmond, 

Left Virginia's balmy clime, 
And their pleasant little cabin, 

Washed with paint and colored lime, 
There to view the great Fair's wonders 

And the towering Ferris wheel, 
And the wondrous sights in Midway 

And the works of staff and steel. 



89 



THE JOHNSON FAMILY AT THE FAIR. 

Ezra Johnson was the father, 

Cynthia Johnson was his wife, 
Lincoln, son with name so famous, 

Was a type of peace and strife. 
Carrie was their only daughter, 

Curly headed little miss; 
Yes, her lips were just like rubies, 

But were not the kind to kiss. 



Here they were overlooking Midway, 

Oh, what happiness was theirs! 
Heaven seemed before them shining, 

All was there but golden stairs; 
Gaily colored flags were floating, 

Music swelled the airy seas, 
Men were crowding through the entrance 

Thick as snowflakes in a breeze. 



Ezra Johnson wiped his forehead, 

Rolled his eyes o'er heavenly space, 
As he dashed the perspiration 

From his streaming neck and face. 
"Bless de Lo'd!" he slowly murmured, 

"Bless de Lo'd! " said Cynthia, too; 
"Oh, how jolly! " shouted Lincoln, 

As he clogged from shoe to shoe. 

Having lunches in their baskets 

That had been put up at home, 
They were ready for their journey 

To the lake-front's wavy foam; 
So they started for the entrance, 

Ezra walking at the head, 
With his eyes and ears wide open. 

Noting all that each one said. 

90 



THE JOHNSON FAMILY AT THE FAIR. 

Stalking- to the ticket agent, 

He inquired, "Wat's de price? " 
"Fifty cents for a single ticket, " 

Said the agent, smiling nice; 
Ezra searched his spacious pocket 

Till at last he found his purse, 
'Twas a fifty-year old wallet, 

And from bad was worn to worse. 



Tickets bought, he pushed the turnstile, 

Mrs. Johnson walked behind. 
She was fleshy, broad, low-statured, 

Bone and muscle both combined; 
Ezra walked on into Midway, 

But, alas! his wife did not, 
She was pinioned in a corner 

And with singulation fraught. 



"Ezra! Ezra! Lan' o' mercy!" 

Ezra turned a frightened face, 
Then he shook his sides with laughter, 

Twisted muscles out of place; 
And the ticket agent, laughing, 

Helped the good old lady through, 
She was squirming like a tortoise, 

And her, mind was in a stew. 



"Ezra Johnson, " she demanded, 

As the coals glowed in her eyes, 
"Is you gwine to la'f and mischief 

Kase I's big and sich a size ? " 
Ezra's blood began to tingle 

And his fingertips grew cold, 
For he knew his Cynthia's temper. 

It was known and tried of old. 



91 



THE JOHNSON FAMILY AT THE FAIR. 

"Ta-ra-ta-ta! here's de big show, 

Dance girl, ta-ra-ta-ta-ta! 
Cost you only twenty-five cent — 

Twenty-five cent — ta-ra-ta!" 
Ezra could not keep from grinning 

As a man made all this noise, 
'Twas a happy culmination 

To his strained and waning joys. 



Now they reach the "Streets of Cairo, v 

And, of course, they must go in; 
Ezra grasps his rusty wallet 

And then searches for more " tin; " 
Lincoln wants to see the camel, 

Carrie wants to take a ride, 
Ezra, thinking of his boyhood, 

Fain would scale the camel's side. 



This he does within short order, 

Cynthia then fills all the space, 
Holding Carrie closely to her 

As the camel starts to pace; 
"Honey, what's become o'Lincum ? " 

Mrs. Johnson asks in fright; 
"Hangin' on some'eres," says Ezra, 

"An' he's clean gone out o' sight." 

Then the camel seemed to notice 

That he carried extra weight, 
And his backbone felt extended, 

Coupled to the tail-end freight ; 
But the tail-end freight held tightly, 

It would not give way an inch, 
And with dangling oscillations 

It the camel's tail did pinch. 

92 



THE JOHNSON FAMILY AT THE FAIR. 

When the camel ride was over 

They all started through Midway. 
Where they met a fat Samoan, 

Who was clad in leaves and hay ; 
Ezra asked, "Does you speak English ?" 

Here's his answer, "Yes, does you ?" 
And the speaker weighed two hundred, 

And could speak good English, too. 



Passing on to where the lagoons 

Stretched their arms out gracefully, 
Where the gondolas were paddled, 

Where the electric launches lay, 
They beheld the Fisheries building, 

But they passed it quickly by, 
Walked along the glist'ning lake-front 

Where the whaleback gave its cry. 

Then they reached the "Court of Honor, 

Saw the Republic's statue there, 
And the electric launches rushing 

O'er the basin's waters fair ; 
Ezra took a sudden notion — 

'Twas a new one never tried, 
He would ride upon the lagoon 

With his family by his side. 

This he put in execution, 

Took the next boat when it came ; 
It passed quickly o'er the water, 

But the lake, oh what a shame ! 
There the wind was blowing stiffly 

And the waves were breaking spray, 
And the launch rolled on the billows 

Like a falling waiter's tray. 

93 



THE JOHNSON FAMILY AT THE FAIR. 

Ezra's face began to whiten, 

He was feeling rather sick, 
And he knew well what would happen 

If he didn't reach land quick ; 
But he was not headed shoreward, 

Land was far to leeward then- 
Ezra's facial muscles tightened, 

Loosened, tightened once again. 



Then he grasped his seat most desperate. 

Corkscrewed like a fleeing snake, 
Opened wide his mouth capacious, 

Invoked ghosts his life to take ; 
Oh, what sickness in that moment, 

As he bowed his woolly head, 
Wrestling with the demon in him, 

Suffring more than can be said ! 



But this did not last forever, 

For the boat reached solid land, 
Having tossed about its inmates 

As the ocean's beach of sand ; 
Ezra did not look as tranquil 

When he left the bobbing boat ; 
He was turned around — uncertain, 

And his legs were hard to tote. 



Rolling-chairs passed slowly by them, 

Mrs. Johnson wished for one — 
She was warm and tired from walking 

In the hot rays of the sun ; 
Ezra crossed o'er to a chair-booth, 

Leased a chair — size extra large — 
With its cushions so inviting, 

Furnished with small added charge. 

94 



BILL CURDY 'S TOOTHACHE, 

Mrs. Johnson, with small Carrie, 

Now sat on the cushioned seat ; 
Ezra pushed the chair on gently 

Down the broad, cemented street ; 
"Do it run quite easy, honey ?" 

Mrs. Johnson asked in love ; 
"Mos' like bein' a mule," says Ezra 

"An' hits powerful hard to shove. " 

"Twas a week they spent together, 

Viewing sights so grand and pure, 
But they want none other boatrides 

On the lake, you make be sure ; 
Ezra tells his friends in Richmond, 

tk Dat hits mighty fine ter go 
To de Fair an' inter Midway, 

But de lake am sickness sho." 



TiWY Caxt&\^s 'iooWvacVve.. 



Bill Curdy was a cowboy, 
His teeth were aching bad ; 

They had no whiskey on the ranch. 
But, oh, he wished they had ! 

Tobacco — there was plenty, 

He took a dose of that, 
But still his teeth kept aching on, 

And Bill rushed for his hat. 

Said he, "I'm going to Denver, 
These two teeth must come out ; 

In Denver there's a dentist, 
An they say he's very stout." 

95 



BILL CURDY 1 S TOOTHACHE. 

So Bill jumped on his broncho, 
And rushed away full speed ; 

He did not look at strangers, 
And to friends paid little heed. 

He galloped down to Denver, 
His broncho breathing fast, 

Until his eyes a sign did greet, 
The dentist's sign at last. 

Bill soon was off Tiis broncho, 
And climbing up the stairs ; 

His gait showed he was desp'rate, 
For he tumbled o'er some chairs. 

The dentist's face grew whiter, 
The cowboy eyed him bold ; 

The dentist felt the ague, 

And his blood turned warm and cold. 



"See here," said Bill, quite gruffly. 

"Remember now, no pain — 
It must be painless, partner, 

This revolver holds the rein." 



Bill eyed the dentist coldly, 

And fumbled for his gun ; 
The dentist knew a secret, 

And he thought he'd have some fun. 

He used his little secret, 

'Twas laughing-gas, of coarse; 

He quickly plied his forceps, 

And the teeth were pulled with force. 

96 



PANTS. 

When Bill came to, he wondered 
That he had felt no pain ; 

He paid his fee quite freely, 
And said he'd come again. 

The dentist now is doing 
A business full of .gain ; 

He owes it to Bill Curdy, 

Who spread abroad his name. 



Yaw\s. 



Pants, pants, pants, pants, — 
Pantaloons properly, but called pants. 
Pants were invented years ago, 
Our fathers wore them as you know: 
And we now wear them — we, their sons, 
For that's the wav the stvle still runs. 



But we can't tell what's coming next. 
When people with old styles are vexed. 
First comes a notion, then a fad, 
Which may or may not beauty add. 
Now, "bloomers" were a notion till 
The girls would ride the bicycle. 

Who knows but what a dress reform 
Shall sometime take the men by storm ? 
Encroachments have- e'en now begun 
On man's attire, and when they're done 
What shall be left for man to do 
But search for garments strange and new 

97 



MEMORY'S PAST. 

The gentler sex will then hold sway 
O'er pants and coat and vest, and say 
Won't it feel big*, and strong, and grand. 
When so attired and when so i 'manned'' ? 
But what the future man shall be 
Tis ours to simply wait and see. 

No doubt he'll lead the world as now, 
Achieve success with brawn and brow, 
Promote the welfare of the race, 
Befriend the good, abhor the base. 
And this we know : He'll e'er advance 
As long as he wears his precious pants. 



^ftemox^s Pasl 



Last night while thinking and musing 
Of the livid and ever gone by, 

The bells of memory ringing 
In my mind gave an answering sigh. 

I thought of the days of my childhood, 
Of the pleasures I ne'er can forget, 

Of the wealth and the joy of my boyhood 
They flow in my veins even yet. 

And youth, in developing brightness, 
Sat with me far into the night; 

And age, in his weak, hoary whiteness, 
Lay feebly on far yonder height. 

Communion is sweet, yes divinely, 
I drank of the past with delight; 

I felt its strong influence superbly, 
It burned with a power and might. 

98 



WAR SONGS. 

Sweet thoughts chased each other with fleetness 
Through the fields and the halls of the mind: 

The small ones fell low in their weakness, 
And were lost in far distance behind. 

Some sad ones in dark halls lay weeping, 
And moaning for dear friendships gone, 

For those who in Christ's home lay sleeping, 
Who die not but. ever live on. 

But sleep came, and with it oblivion, 
And memory's chain burst in twain; 

I entered the silent pavilion 

To rest both the body and brain. 



*5We ^as ^ ^!Lo\ ^uwe Sxv Tftatorvd *5\va\ TivqVA. 



There's a city called Manila: it is now known far and wide 
As the place where Yankee gunners struck a blow to 

Spanish pride; 
And they did it to perfection with their shells and solid 

shot, 
So that even Spain's dispatches said the air was rather 
hot. 
When they saw the Yankee tars appear, 
Spanish hearts were thumping wild with fear, 
And when the flagship's prow, with Dewey, drew quite 
near, 
'Tis said the Devil ne'er saw such a sight. 

Then great guns set up an awful roar, 
And thick smoke from boat to boat did pour. 
And when the fight was done, Spain's proud ships were 
no more. 
There was a hot time in Madrid that night. 

L * fG " 00 



WAR SONGS. 

The Olympia, with Dewey, led our vessels to the fight, 
It was early Sunday morning, just at dawning- of the 

light, 
And our boys, with firm set faces, cleared for action at 

the word, 
And from each there came a warning which struck terror 
where 'twas heard. 
With the shriek of whizzing ball and shell, 
''Remember the Maine" was hurled to those who fell, 
And when the fight was done some Spaniards prayed in 
hell. 
There was a hot time in Hades that night. 

Then great guns set up an awful roar, 
And thick smoke from boat to boat did pour, 
And when the fight was done, Spain's proud ships were 
no more. 
There was a hot time in Hades that night. 

Oh, thrice proud should be our country of its noble sailor 

* boys, 
Who have crushed a Spanish squadron, with its bluster 

and false poise. 
And to Dewey we have "Hero" to present as given name: 
We would give him more, but that will quite suffice to 
hold his fame. 
Tramp, tramp, tramp, fair Cuba now is free, 
Manila is ours, stronghold of Philippi, 
And Spanish rule and flag are swept from Carib's sea: 
There was a hot time for the Spaniards, all right. 

Then great guns set up an awful roar, 
And thick smoke from boati:o boat did pour, 
And when the fight was done, Spain's proud ships were 
no more. 
There was a hot time for the Spaniards, all right. 

100 



WAR SOXGS. 



He's a rooter, he's a tooter, 
But he's no high sea freebooter. 

Though he overhauls a ship in little time. 
He has bristles "just like thistles. 
He's in earnest when he whistles. 

And he humps his back just like a porcupine. 

Oh. beware to any nation 

On this globe of God's creation. 

That stirs up the bristles on this piggie's back : 
For of all the pigs a living 
He's a terror when a giving 

Blows that sound like one unbroken, stunning whack. 

Spain is just now in a hustle. 
For it had a bloody tussle 

With this little piggie on Manila's shore ; 
And the piggie, in the scrimmage. 
Took on quite another image, 

In a jiffy he stood there a monstrous boar. 

And since then he's been out grunting. 
And for other Spaniards hunting. 

He has all his bristles up and can't be stilled : 
He is nosing 'round Havana, 
Rooting, tooting, and he's had a 

Great time watching Spaniards starve, wmile he was 
filled. 

When this little war is over 
And returns the giant rover, 

Spain will know that he'll be whole hog or be none. 
And beware to any nation 
On this globe of God's creation, 

That stirs up his bristles ; then, sir. there'll be fun. 

101 



WAR SONGS. 



Two squadrons of vessels are riding" the waves. 

On Atlantic's broad sweep of blue, 
Both waiting for news of a treacherous fleet. 

Which has had nothing else to do 
But show to the world that the Spanish are cowed. 

And that Spain's had enough of war: 
See! outward there slips the Armada, the ships 

That the Cape Verdes had harbored before. 

Chorus by Cervera — 

"I'll take my ships, and I'll go right home, 

And I won't come back any more; 
For you won't fight as I want to fight, 

And your Dewey has made me sore. 
We've lost one fleet, and T don't want to meet 

Both Sampson and Schley, you see; 
So never you mind, I'm going right home, 

You can't fight with me." 

Two squadrons of vessels are riding the waves. 

Both as proud of the flag as w r e, 
And when they do strike for their country, brute Spain 

Bleeding Cuba will no more see; 
Her vessels will sink 'neath the foam in a trice. 

While our sailors "Remember the Maine:'' 
See! outward there slips the Armada, the ships 

That had safely at Verde Islands lain. 

The Harvard, a vessel of staunchness and speed, 

W^hile out scouting for Uncle Sam, 
Heard news of the Spanish Armada, the fleet 

That our vessels still wait to ram. 

102 



WAR SONGS. 

To Martinique, town on French West Indies' isle. 
Sped the gallant big* ship, and now 

See! outward there slips the Armada, the ships 
That will soon see a mighty row. 

Manila will soon have American troops 

As each garrison on her soil, 
And Cuba will hear, in the bugle's clear call. 

Her release from the fangs and coil 
Of Spanish misrule, and starvation, and rags: 

Speed the goud work, brave boys in blue! 
See! outward there slips the Armada, the ships 

That soon Sampson is going to view. 



'iVve ~Kav>a\ TbaU\e> Q>\ SaxvVvaqo. 



Six weeks had passed by, but it seemed like a year, 

That's right, that's right, 
When Spain's sly Armada thought best to appear 

To fight, to fight. 
"Twas Sunday, the month was July, date the third; 
The morning was early, each ship like a bird 

In flight, in flight. 

Chorus — 

But oh, what a difference after storming! 
Mighty guns wrought havoc on that morning: 

Cervera's ships, on fire. 

Sank deeply in the mire, 
And many Spanish sailors died that morning. 



The harbor was watched, like a cat would a mouse 

103 



At night, at night; 



WAR SONGS. 

That morn the great ships, like a covey of grouse, 

Took flight, took flight; 
But Sampson and Schley, with their warships, were there, 
And, roaring and crashing, the shells rent the air 

With might, with mig'ht. 

The Cristobal Colon tried hard to escape, 

By flight, by flight, 
American guns which soon battered her shape 

With spite, with spite. 
Maria Teresa, Oquendo, both fell, 
Vizcaya, torpedo boats shattered by shell — 

'Tis well, 'tis well. 



$\ Zzvozx& 'XJOerfc CaxxvaTa. 



If Cervera were Camara, 

And Camara were Cervera, 

Why, Camara would be minus, don't you see?. 

For Cervera has met Sampson, 

And the latter's work was well done, 

And the former's ships were swallowed by the sea. 

If Cervera were Camara, 

And Camara were Cervera, 

Then both men would be our prisoners, you see: 

For Cervera has been captured, 

And our hearts are all enraptured, 

And we'll keep him till the war shall cease to be. 

If Cervera were Camara, 

And Camara were Cervera, 

Why, both Spaniards would look much alike to me; 

But Cervera is a man, sir, 

To his country's call gave answer, 

While Camara, like a coward, climbed a tree. 

104 



HIP-HIP-HURRAH FOR CO. G. 
^vpAJLlpASLwraYi *5ot *5\ve "NUmWs Q>\ Co. &\ 



Hearts beat with pride in Wausau homes 
For the boys of the Company G, 

Who left their all to fight the Spanish army; 

They are a part of a loyal throng- 
To Puerto Rico free, 

And whip a skulking foe — Alfonzo's army. 
The Spanish Dons are very mad, 
They have a premonition sad. 
Which says that their arrogant pride is lost, 
And that Rico is held at an awful cost. 

But hip-hooray! the bands will play 
When the soldier boys march out, 

And the bugle's call will rise and fall 
When the Captain gives a shout: 

Chorus — 

"Right-face! Forward! March!" A grand parade. 

Oh people, we shall see them march 

In uniforms as stiff as starch, 
And never out of step, you see. 

We'll all be shouting, when we see our boys return 
"Hip-hip-hurrah for the members of Company G!" 

Sweethearts will smile in gladsome way 
On the boys of the Company G, 

And wives will clasp their husbands, from the army; 

The boys will say, in a joking way, 
As they speak to you and me: 

,; The Spanish shot and shell did naught to harm me/ 
We'll write their names on history's scroll, 
And sing their deeds as fleet years roll: 
When our children shall gather around our knees, 

105 



THE POET'S VISION. 

We shall tell them of battles 'neath Indies' trees. 
But hip-hooray! the bands will play 

When Spain is put to rout, 
And the bugle's call will rise and fall 

When the Captain gives a shout: 



^b\z Po&Vs "XJlsvotv. 



Sitting- at the table 

With his pen and ink, 
Thoughtfully the poet scratched his head; 

Friction oft repeated 

Sleepy brain defeated, 
And the poet wrote and went to bed. 

Tossing in his slumber, 

Dreaming of his fame, 
Autocrat, 'mong poets, he was one; 

He dreampt of his power 

But for one short hour, 
Then he lost his vision with the sun. 



106 



A VIEW OF ASYLUM INMATES. ETC. 
3V X)ve>\» Q>\ 'JVs^VMttv SivmaUs. 



A SNAP SHOT. 

Slowly o'er the grass they come. 

Poor, hopeless creatures! 
Childish, simple, changed each one — 

Repulsive features! 
Some of them in the prime of life, 
Some worn by many years of strife, 
And some still in their youthful years, 
Insane and lost, a sight for tears. 

They move in me 

A curse on wild Insanity. 



£>o\uv lUa\s. 



1796-1821. 

Like a meteor dashing through the sky. 
To flash, and gleam, and fade, and die, 

Was the life of Keats, the poet ; 
But who can measure those few years 
He spent upon this sphere of spheres? 
Who tell of heights he might have soared? 
Who tell his fame, his just reward 
E'en now? The pen cannot relate 
Our thoughts of him at present date. 
And then to think what might have been 
Had Death not stealthily crept in! 
The daisies bloom above him now, 
But many a nobler, purer brow 
Is left to think of him who said 
His name was writ in water. 

107 



ASK THE RAVEK ETC. 



3VsV *5Vve Ha\)eTv. 



What is there that is so divine 

As maidens in their youthful prime? 

"Nothing," quoth the raven, "for 
Maidens' charms we all adore." 
This he says and nothing more. 



3V 15>\xs^ Ktuvdt's SUUxTvattx)*. 



A busy mind must find its vent 
In prose or verse, to be content; 
For what's a person going to do 
When conversation stops, and you 
Have many, many things to say 
Which must be said without delay? 
Why, with the pen you quickly write, 
And there your say's in black and white. 



*5o 3V Tmexvd. 



Thought, Stone, is written on thy face, 

But thought is not alone — 
In deep, where tissues interlace, 

Soul speaks in undertone: 
"Strive, strive! nor let one moment pass 
In fountained courts of shiftlessness, 
But, up and doing, count naught done 
Till life's low-sinking, waning sun 
Proclaimeth rest." 

108 



FRIENDS MUST PART, ETC. 



Friends must part, though hard the parting". 
Even though their tears be starting. 
Even though they never, never, 

Never more shall meet again: 
But they still will e'er remember, 
Be it spring or bleak December, 
Loving words, or loving looks, 

Or loving deeds, to each made plain. 



SoWtax&e. 



The darkened night, the curtains drawn. 
And man alone within his room 
With naught of sound from out the gloom 

For mind to dwell upon. 

A reverie — what images! 

With thoughts of awe on space about, 
When man feels small within, without — 

This, this is solitude. 



109 



UNDER THE CROSS. 



(A statue erected to the memory of Mr. and Mrs. Johannes 
Dietl, in the Catholic cemetery at Antigo, Wis.) 

Deft was the hand that carved thy form, 
Sweet maiden, — sweet though cut in 
stone ; 

Thy drapery hangs from thy head 

In easy grace, as o'er the dead 

Thou mournest: and we note the storm 

Of deep emotion in thy mien — 

Thy head bent o'er, as though to screen 
From public view. No outward groan 

Escapes thy lips, but on thy face 

Deep, patient suffering we can trace. 

Thy right arm, circling round the cross, 

Bespeaks of solace for the loss 

Of those so dear. 'Tis faith divine 

That holds thee up: firm trust in God 

That He has claimed thine from the sod. 

Thy left arm rests against thy side, 

And in its hand there is espied 

A lily, telling of the peace 

Which sprang within yon souls' release. 

Oh maiden, speak! thy breast doth heave! 

With thee we groan, with thee we grieve. 

We are of flesh, thou art of stone; 

We grieve, we sigh, we cry — alone. 



110 



A SWEET GIRL GRADUATE, ETC 
3V Sxaeeft 5vt\ &Ta&vxaU. 



A sweet and winsome graduate. 
She stands there learned, up-to-date. 
Her stock of knowledge is immense, 
And balances her common sense. 
She'll move the world and move some man 
As only such a woman can; 
For, watch her pretty lips and eyes, 
Wherein her moving power lies, 
And you will see what I have seen: 
(Imagination's eyes are keen) 
A sweet boy graduate in love, 
A member of the self -same class, 
Whose thoughts have been of yonder lass, 
Whose dream has been, "My love I'll prove.'" 
He speaks the word, a state is formed, 
And Congress is not e'en informed. 
In home, the sweet girl graduate 
Is founder of a civil state, 
For there she holds in her control 
The Future's body, mind and soul. 



SwsxaV Svm\>fcTUv$ SvwvpVeftoxvs. 



We're several simpering simpletons, 

All simple, single ones, 
Studious, steady, saving, — such 

Succeed, secure, save sums. 
Serene, no sorrow sets a snare 

To scratch or stain the scene; 

111 



THE PAST. 

You seldom see such fun and glee 
As we, the simpletons. 

We're several simpering simpletons. 

Such shall our record show; 
We'll simper and sing and serenade 

Till spring's sun melts the snow; 
Still simpering on in sun and shade, 

We'll simper till simpering's o'er; 
When simpering's done, ends simpering's fun, 

So, too, each simpleton. 

(A club of High School girls and boys which flo urished in 
former days.) 



"b\z Yast 



Oh, the days of romping childhood, 

When the months and years are long! 
Then it is we join with pleasure 

In her happy strains of song; 
Then it is we feel our pulses 

Thrill with life and growth and health; 
Then it is that we are living 

In a world of light and wealth. 

How uplifting is remembrance 

When infused with but the good! 
Looking back, our old friend, Memory, 

Winks as though he understood 
Just the time that we are seeking, 

Everything he seems to see: 
He is ever on the lookout; 

Thus it is he's dear to me. 



112 



THE WEEPING MOTHER. 

Don't you think there's something holy 
In the archives of the past? 

Don't you think there's something- living- 
There that's ever going- to last? 

Yes, it holds our dearest treasures — 
Friends have left for heaven above, 

And are living on in glory 
Near the Son, the Prince of Love. 

Yes, our dearest recollections 

Centre 'round that which is gone; 
Father, mother, sister, brother, 

Are, perhaps, still living on 
Here below; but still we linger 

In the paths of long ago, . 
And recount our many battles 

Which insured our weal or woe. 

Age looks back to childhood always, 

And to that which lies before; 
Weakness makes us long for power, 

And for days we'll see no more. 
What a blessing it is to us 

If we hold a sunny past! 
We can then live on in comfort 

To the ever-nearing last. 



*5\vei A0e.e\>uvq TCtoWiw. 



A loved one had been called away, 

And home and friends were mourning ; 

The corpse within the casket lay, 
A maid once fair and charming. 

113 



THE WEEPING MOTHER. 

And tender hands had laid her there, 
While tears of sorrow started ; 

The house seemed desolate and bare 
Since her young- life departed. 

Hush ! hear the sobs ; the mourners come. 

Led by her stricken father, 
Who, tearful, tenderly holds one 

So dear to him — her mother. 



Then come two sisters, tearful, wan, 
And close behind two brothers — 

Young men whose love for her now gone 
Is shared by many others. 

Few eyes there are that show no tears, 
And many have been weeping-, 

But more than all, it soon appears, 
The mother's sobs are leaping. 

Ah, mother, we can sympathize 
With you in your bereavement ; 

'Tis sad when youthful promise dies 
To miss this life's achievement. 

But God knows best, all things shall be 
Made right through His omniscience ; 

The things unseen we then shall see, 
E'en in His very presence. 

We can not understand the "now," 
Nor that down in the future ; 

But, simply trusting, here we bow 
In prayer to Him, our Teacher. 

7- 

114 



THE WEEPING MOTHER, 

You, mother, while you weep see Him, 
And take to Him your sorrow ; 

Today your sight through tears is dim, 
You see no brighter morrow. 

The days pass by, where is that voice, 
Where is that girlish laughter ? 

We listen, watch, e'en fear the noise 
Of creaking board or rafter. 

The years pass by, and grief receives 

A solace in some measure : 
Immortal soul, the mind believes, 

Is kept as God's good treasure. 

Then why our grief ? That mound of sod 

So green, so lone out yonder, 
Breathes not forth vengeance of a God 

Of death, of hell, of thunder. 

No ! love breathes from that yonder tomb 

In which her form is lying, 
And upward far beyond the gloom 

Her soul in peace is flying. 

Peace, mother, peace : let His love reign. 

And soothe your tears of sorrow ; 
For darkness comes but to proclaim 

The brightness of the morrow. 



115 



DO YOU OFTEN STOP TO THINK, APART, ALONE f 
Do ^ou ©ftew S\op *5o ^YiuvV, ^art, SUoxv* % 



Do you often stop to think, apart, alone, 

Think the thoughts which make in man the nobler 
mind ? 
Do you often in the fields and forests roam, 

There communion with a nobler world to find ? 

Do you feel the throb of life about you swell, 

And enjoy the keen aroma of the wood ? 
Do you pass from hill-top downward into dell, 

Near the river, ever-changing in its mood ? 

Do you often watch the twinkling stars above, 
And the full moon as it circles toward the west ? 

Do you feel within your heart for these a love ? 
If you do, then life is surely at its best. 

Do you mark the awful grandeur of the storm, 
As the lightnings flash, and thunders crash and roll ? 

Do you mark the seething heavens, ragged, torn, 
Soon to disappear within the rainbow's scroll ? 

Do you often try to solve the mysteries 

Which surround your life upon this whizzing sphere ? 
Do you try to read the bulky histories 

Which old Father Time has penned from year to year ? 

Do you feel the workings of a mind on high, 

Feel the promptings of a voice within your soul ? 

Do you plan your life in righteousness, and try 
Your dark thoughts and evil intents to control ? 

Ah, methinks, then, you do think and feel, enjoy, 
And have chosen in this life the better part ; 

For the so-called pleasures but debase, annoy, 
While the true ones elevate soul, mind and heart. 

116 



AWAY, YOUNG MEN, WITH MEANER THINGS. 
3V\»a^, A^o\xtv$ ^NUtv, AJDvWv 'TCUaxveT 'iKuv^s. 



Away, young- men, with meaner things — 

Dark thoughts and deeds ; 
Away with passion's wanderings ! 

They are as weeds. 
Blown here, blown there, 

The seeds alight, 
And, lo, they breed 

Not food, but blight — 
Each seed a weed. 

Away with paltry things of earth, 

Mistaken joys ; 
Away with awful sin and dearth 

"Out with the boys." 
The path is short 

To Satan's cell ; 
Outrageous sport 

Leads straight to hell. 

Away with notions false, untrue, 

And be a man ; 
Away with tempters nearest you, 

Who lead the van. 
Temptations fly 

Before the face 
Of him whose eye 

Is fixed on space. 

Look to your heart, your mind, your soul, 

And make them pure ; 
Be not dismayed, lose not the goal 

Where works endure. 

117 



WHERE HEROES LIE. 

Leave something here 

Besides a name : 
Kind words to~cheer, 

And deeds the same. 

So shall you rise again, yet reach 

A glorious life, 
And past wrongs, made divine, shall teach 

Your future strife. 



MSVverfc ^-exofcs £>ve, 



Step softly, friends, upon this sod 

Where heroes lie; 
By shot, and shell, and bayonet, 

They fell to die. 
Plant here the gallant Stars and Stripes, 

Let flowers deck the graves; 
Show honor to our Country's dead, 

To both the Blues and Grays. 

There is a nobleness that comes 

From heroes' tombs; 
Think of the sacrifice they made, 

Their gaping wounds! 
Think of their thirst upon the field 

While lying prone and weary — 
Behold a sufferer gasping now, 

He's dying, lone and teary. 

The sun rolls slowly toward the west, 

Where heroes lie; 
The darkness veils the field of death, 

The soldier's sigh. 

118 



WM. McKINLEY. 

Ah, what a sacrifice it was 

To lay down life's beginning-'. 
But, through their death, a nation saved 

Is re-united living. 

Behold the marble slabs which rise 

On every side; 
The Blue and Gray have left the ranks — 

A nation's pride. 
Let children deck each grave with flowers. 

And let young hearts respond 
To that nobility which all 

The truest soldiers donned. 

Step softly, friends, upon this sod 

Where heroes lie; 
Keep fresh with song their memory 

As years go by. 
Observe the Day Memorial, 

The Thirtieth of May; 
Remember both the North and South 

On Decoration Dav. 



M*)m. TftcKAuV^. 



"God's Will, Not Ours, Be Done.'* 

With features lit with friendliness, 

Our president stood with outstretched hand 

Within the Temple, while the throng 

Of loyal countrymen passed by. 

He greeted each with word, or nod, 

Or smile, and pressure of the hand. 

While over all the mellow tones 

Of the pipe-organ gave the place 

119 



WM. McKINLEY. 

A sacredness. But one there was 
Who felt no fervor in his soul, 
No prompting's for a holier aim, 
Or love for God and law and man. 
He saw no beauty in the scene, 
Nor looked he to the right or left, 
Or at that wondrous dome above 
Whose architectural lines were grand. 
A fell and murderous impulse dwelt 
Within his heart; his kerchiefed hand 
Held in its palm the messenger 
That waited but to strike to death 
Him who stood there in majesty, 
The guardian of our liberty. 

The line moved on; the young man reached 
The president, offered him his hand, 
The left, and then the right sped forth 
Upon its dastard, fiendish crime. 
Two shots rang out, and backward swayed 
Beloved McKinley's noble form, 
Third martyr to the land that bred 
Immortal Lincoln, Garfield great. 

Life battled in succeeding days 

Within the Milburn home, where lay 

Our stricken chief executive. 

The Nation watched with growing hope 

Each bulletin, and prayers were breathed 

In every city in the land 

That God would spare our chief, whose life 

Was dear to country and to her 

Who worshiped at his feet — his wife; 

For he had been her strong support 

Through years of sickness, and at last 

His form lay low and close to death. 

120 



THE ORIGIN OF THOUGHT. 

Then came the change, the noble soul 
Breathed his last words to earthly friends, 
And sang- the hymns dear to his heart 
As being from the clay dissevered. 
1 'Nearer, My God, To Thee" they heard: 
"Lead, Kindly Light," then consciousness 
Was lost, and to the great beyond 
The spirit took his flight forever. 

Flags hung half-mast throughout the world. 
And nations shared a common grief 
As church bells swung in requiem. 
Our people thronged the sacred aisles 
Of worship, and with speech and song 
Implored their God, in whom they trust, 
To guide them in their hour of trial: 
That anarchy should be no more, 
That love should triumph over hate, 
That justice, calm, should still proceed 
To purify that down within 
Which threatened freedom, law. and all 
That went to make a perfect state. 
Like him, we bow our heads and say, 
"God's will, not ours, be done." 



*5Vve Qrvqui Q>\ f 5\vo\xq\v\. 



How often do we see the skies 
Grow red, and throw their beams along 
The heaven's dome in endless throng, 

While everything in color lies. 

The sun in glory sinks to rest 

Behind yon hill, and fleecy clouds, 

121 



THE ORIGIN OF THOUGHT. 

Suspended, throw their gauzy shrouds 
O'er 'parting Day in night-cap drest. 

A stillness hushes all the air, 
The very leaves hang as if dead, 
While Mother Earth, with pleasure fed, 

Sighs sweetly on the scene so fair. 

The throb of life is scarcely heard, 
A peacefulness has entered all ; 
The anxious bird sends forth its call. 

"To sleep" it sings in tone and word. 

The lowing cattle leave the fields, 
The faithful dog trots in their rear ; 
The farmer's call is full of cheer 

As through the waning dusk it steals. 

The proud cock folds his spangled wings, 
And struts along with lordly mien ; 
His dames in stately files are seen — 

Such is the rule and sway of kings. 

To roost they go while yet 'tis light, 
The fowls of air, of field, of wood ; 
Ecstatic sleep is understood, 

The meanest fowl is friend of night. 

The skies in darkness fade away, 

The glowing beams are seen no more; 
Horizon looks like ocean's shore, 

The firmament lies cold and gray. 

But soon a million lights are seen, 

A hazy moon rides in the sky, 

A meteor goes flashing by — 
The angels gape with awe, I ween. 

122 



THE ORIGIN OF THOUGHT. 

The twinkling- stars smile in their glee, 
The universe in joy was framed; 
Each star, by its great Maker named, 

Holds lig-ht which is to live and be. 

But soon a flush glows in the east, 
The fading- moon rides in the west, 
It seems tu sink to earth for rest, 

New life springs into bird and beast. 

The cock crows, "Ho, 'tis time to rise!" 
The beast awakes from pleasures deep; 
Proud Day o'ercomes the power of sleep, 

And shouts, "Ye sons of men, arise!" 

Great lines of color, flashing, break 
Through cloudy mist, to light the way 
For each deformed or perfect ray 

That comes to light yon ether lake. 

The trees that crown the sage old hill, 
Which marks horizon's fixed line, 
Are wrapped in flame — the maple, pine— 

Our hearts with awful grandeur thrill. 

O splendid sight! Thou fiery orb! 
Rise, rise, O Sun, the crown of Day, 
And brush the clinging mists away 

Which thou canst every drop absorb! 

Yes, now thy light is beaming forth, 
And higher, higher thou dost sail; 
Thou leav'st behind a splendid trail, 

Afar thou smil'st o'er south and north. 

The warbling bird, perched in yon tree, 
Sings sweetly of its pent-up joy, 

123 



THE ORIGIN OF THOUGHT. 

Its pleasure is without alloy, 
Its song- is heard far o'er the lea. 

The cows drink from the sparkling- brook, 
And toss their horns exultantly; 
The meadow-lark sings cheerily, 

The rodent issues from its nook. 

The throb of life, distinctly heard, 

Is swelled by strife of elements, 

For in the west are filaments 
Which flash, with grinding thunders stirred. 

The mighty clouds, piled thick and fast, 
Rush through the air with awful speed: 
A Maker's hand is there indeed, 

His forces awe our souls when massed. 

The sun can shed his light no more, 
For heavy blackness hangs between 
The earth and sky, and blackish-green 

Now fills the air where waters soar. 

A thunder clap, an awful crash! 

The waters, loosed, speed to the ground; 

The lightnings through the heavens bound. 
A bolt strikes earth with rending flash. 

The clouds pass by, the thunders cease, 
A rainbow arches into view — 
The red, the yellow, green and blue — 

It brings to earth a time of peace. 

The trees drip with the blood of life, 
The buttercup lifts up its head, 
And flowers, which were once quite dead, 

Revive, and with new hope seem rife. 

124 



THE ORIGIN OF THOUGHT. 

All nature feels a pleasant thrill, 

And Earth, now clothed with verdure green. 

Throws to the light a silvery sheen 
While, stirred with growth, her pulses fill. 

Such scenes as these made man awake 
To beauties that e'en stirred his soul, 
To beauties that with seasons roll : 

He of their grandeur would partake. 

He sat aud looked; he saw and heard. 

Impression formed the power thought; 

His mind, with blessed visions fraught, 
Could soar to things unseen, unheard. 

Communion with the great and grand, 

Sufficient in itself to build, 

With contemplation was instilled, 
So higher things were in demand. 

Astronomy, long years ago, 

In Egypt, stirred the higher mind; 

Man searched the heavens, there to find 
The paths in which the panets go. 

Conceptions of a mighty God, 

Though dim, were formed and brought to light 
And heaven's spheres rolled through the night 

W T ith songs of glory and of laud. 

The music of the spheres kept on, 
And man's enraptured ear would list 
To strains that raised from black abyss 

His steps, by evil forces drawn. 

The God of might was God of love 
When music held the ear of man, 

125 



THE ORIGIN OF THOUGHT. 

And heaven then for him began, — 
New attributes had He above. 

Communion taught the ear to sing; 
The origin of thought was all 
That caused the heavenly strains to fall 

To earth, their happiness to bring. 

String instruments, played by deft hand, 
Sent strains of sweetness through the air, 
And heaven's notes were centered there, 

They held in song another land. 

The origin of thought was made 

The poet's imaginative mind; 

Two powers he has quite combined, 
In thought and music he's arrayed. 

He walks with Nature as a friend; 

He strives to see in life the good; 

He knows the bad is understood; 
He strives with good the ill to rend. 

How grand to think of sages hoar, 

Whose thought goes ringing down through time, 

Whose every word is word sublime! 
A sage's thought lives evermore. 

The power, thought, in verse and prose, 
Holds gems that glow with heaven's seal, 
And, reading them, our souls can feel 

Delicious draughts and sweet repose. 

Grand thought, with thee I mean to live, 
With thee commune, with thee devise 
A way to open languid eyes 

To beauties that new life can give. 

126 



THE CLOUD. 

My friend, the origin of thought 
Has made in you and me a might 
Which, cultivated, throws a light 

Far o'er the worldly thinker's lot. 



*5\ve £W&. 



What mysteries shroud yon heaven's deep! 

We can but guess at what is there ; 
Ah, if we could but take a peep, 

We'd see some wondrous beauties rare. 

But what we see we can enjoy, 

The sun, the moon, the stars, the clouds ; 
Celestial wonders they convey, 

Although the rest are wrapped in shrouds. 

The cloud in fleecy whiteness lies 
So pure and light in heaven's blue ; 

On gauzy wings through space it flies, 
Its changing form is ever new. 

When in its wrath it shakes its form, 
And gives vent to its murmurings, 

It is a sign of future storm, 

The banquet of the vapor kings. 

Its mission is to purify, 

And bless the soil with verdure green ; 
Its form is pleasure to the eye, 

'Tis joy to earth whenever seen. 

The cloud ! Yes, it is dear to all, 
Its beauty thrills the eye and soul ; 

From depths within God's blessings fall 
Far o'er the parched fields to roll. 

127 



THEY MAKE A BOOK, ETC. 



The fleecy clouds that dot the sky 

When balmy days their perfume bring ; 
The matchless scenes that charm the eye 

And cause the little birds to sing- : 
The swaying trees, the babbling* brook, 

The painted field, the whispering winds- 
Can make in poetry a book, 

And lift our thoughts to higher things. 



%\ is T&Aut^s AJDa^. 



'Tis Nature's way 
To place her beauties far and near 
Where man, whose days are ofttimes drear, 
May seek and find the sunbeams gay. 

What beauties lie to us revealed 
On hillside, plain, and rocky reef! 
What enemies of stubborn grief 

Are they, the love of heaven unsealed! 



128 



WORDS. 



What significance in words, — 

Spoken words ! 
They remind us of sweet warbling songs of birds. 
How they stir our souls to rapture 
As the richest thoughts they capture 

From the mind ! 
And how musical their beating 
As the tongue keeps on repeating 
Thoughts that come and go, so fleeting, 
Left behind ! 
And the lover, as he looks upon his love, 
Speaks so softly words that flutter like the dove, 
And the maiden he is wooing, 
Into whose ear he is cooing, 
Blissful, knows not what she's doing, 

Only feels 
That the words she hears will never 
From her throbbing soul dissever, 
They'll remain with her forever ; — 

Now he kneels, 
And he makes a vow to Annie, 
Helen, Marguerite, or Fanny, 
That of all the girls, the many, 

She's the one ; 
And the maiden's heart aflutter 
Not a word will let her utter, 
Cupid, only, dares to mutter, 
- "It is done." 
Yes, what music in those words, — 
Lovers' words ! 

They are honey to the senses, 
Talked on door-steps, over fences : 

129 



WORDS. 

Love wilt talk love where it chances — 
Anywhere. 
Such are words, the spoken words, 
So debonair. 

What expression springs from words, — 

Written words ! 
They, too, liken to the warbling- songs of birds. 
When by genius they are filtered, 
Sentences made over, altered, 

They explain 
Thoughts of him who did the writing, 
Set to music grand, exciting, 
Peal on peal, each word uniting 

With the strain. 
How the soul within us rises 

With each thought ! 
How we're taken with surprises 

Heavenward caught I 
While the words are ever giving 
Thoughts on life and better living 

To the world ; 
And we sit and think and ponder, 
Till we can do naught but wonder 
At the spell we're sitting under — 

Words uphurled. 
What a power in those words, — 
Written words ! 

How the poet's thoughts, expanding, 
Higher truths are e'er demanding, 

How they tell 
Of a world of higher feeling 
Where prophetic rhymes are pealing, 
Where the peace of God is stealing 

Sin to quell. 
Words, the simple words, outspoken from the mind, 
Words, the written words, unbroken, spaced and lined, 

130 



OUR HEARTS ARE SAD. 

Will, if nobly spoken* written, 
Leave a lasting, deep impression 
On each passing- generation — 

They're the kind ! 
Such are words, the written words. 

To thought assigned. 



C>\xt ^sat^s 3\re Sadu 



Our hearts are sad 

On this bright day, 
We cannot understand it. 

The sunny skies 

Greet not our eyes ; 

We bar each ray 

Of brightness gay, 
Dark thought — we dote upon it. 

The grass is fresh, 

Kissed by the dew 
Of heaven's balmy moisture. 

The leafy trees, 

The cooling breeze — 

All happy, free ; 

For you and me, 
Thought in a darkened cloister. 

From yonder tree 

A swelling throat 
Sings joyously of nature ; 

Still we are sad, 

All else is glad ; 

We are not free, 

131 



A BETTER VIEW. 

« 

But think of me — 
Poor me, the forlorn creature. 

Look out, not in, 

Outside is joy, 
The saddened heart will feel it : 

Look up, not down, 

Disperse the frown 

Upon thy face, 

Let joy embrace 
Thy heart, and reign within it. 

Ah, tender soul, 

There is a joy 
For every hour of sadness ; 

There is good cheer 

For every tear ; 

Long hours of light 

Succeed the night : 
Hosanna I all is gladness. 



SV Tetter Xvotd. 



Tonight I see a brighter realm 
Than I have ever seen before, 

And thoughts that burn and overwhelm 
Waft breezes from a better shore. 

Life's meaner ways seem low, uncouth, 
Emotion thrills my very soul ; 

My mind seeks eagerly for truth 
And for a Christ-made earthly goal. 

132 



SOLILOQUY OF AN OLD GERMAN RESIDENT. 

How often we are bound in sin 
With fetters made e'en by our hands ! 

And demons' thoughts would enter in 
To crush the thought our soul demands. 

But bar them out, call to thy will 
To help thee in temptation's hour : 

Obey thy conscience, nothing ill 

Can then e'en shake thy strongest tower. 

How weak we are ! Still grandeur lurks 
Within our rounded, flesh-made walls ; 

There is a power there that works 
Immortal shapes in brainy halls. 

Ah, that we knew just what we are \ 
From baseness then our lives would flee ; 

Our eyes would find yon Guiding Star 
That points to things which are to be. 



*b\z SoV\\oqux} Q>\ «5Vtv 6Y& Sercmatv "&es\&&T\,\. 



(from behind the creek.) 

"Dunner unt blitzen! vat do you tink? 

Der colt wafe alretty vas here; 
Der vater vas froze vereever you goes, 

Unt so mit mine lager beer. 

1 'I smoke mine pipe, alretty so quick, 
Und make me von fire so varm; 

But still I vas colt, for I'm getting oit, 
Unt not vaterproof mit der storm. 

133 



DOT AYERNOO MUDT. 

"Der mont vas March, unt soon pooty quick 
Der mut putties got varm again; 

Der sun vill be blazin', der 'mometer raisin', 
Unt happy I vill be again. 

"Der leedle birds vill perch on der tree, 
Unt sing me von goot, leedle song; 

Der flowers vill grow ven gone is der snow, 
Der cowbells vill dingle-ding-dong. 

u Der pigs vill squeal mit happiness, too, 
Unt eat mit demselves pooty fat; 

Der grass vill grow ven gone vas der snow : 
I rink it look better like dot. 

"Dei* sun vas better as vat vas colt, 

In Vausau I tink it vas so; 
Der days ven its bright for me unt mine pipe, 

Dose days I vants noddings to do." 



Do\ ^\>e>TTvoo T&\x&. 



I've heered dem talk of der Vausau Lake 

Down on der Avernoo, 
Vhere mudt vas ticker as it could make 

Mit vater soaking trough. 

Mit four washbasins in der street 

To catch der vater dere, 
Dot mudt it sure vas two feet deep 

If measured anyvhere. 

134 



DOT AVER NO MUDT. 

Der only ting- vat makes me mad 
Vas, vere's der grass unt flowers ? 

Dot lake it vould not be so bad 
If filled mit April showers. 

But den der vater vorks could take 
Der place of dem, you know; 

For it's so clear no vater snake 
Could live in it unt grow. 

Unt den some leedle islands sweet, 

Mit grasses on deir banks, 
Vould make a bullyvarded street 

To satisfy der cranks. 

Der boats would float on dot small sea 
To strains mit Schneider's Band, 

Vile picnic parties ve vould see 
Drink schooners on der land. 

Unt people vat read poultry good 
Could ponder mit Shakesbeer, 

Vile lovers kissed beneat der vood, 
Unt vispered ear mit ear. 

Oh! people, hear me vat I say, 
Here's to dot Vausau Lake! 

Let us shump up unt clear der vay 
For someding vat vas great. 

Der mudt was made for only hogs, 

Unt not for pleasing view, 
I te]l you dings vas gone to dogs 

Down on der Avernoo. 

135 



EUGENE FIELD. 



I did not know 'Gene Field, 

I never saw his face, 
But still within a kindred soul 

He holds a tender place; 
For his was no mean song, 

He sang" from brain and heart. 
And lovingly his pen bespoke 

In verse a simpler part. 
But Field is dead, 
Lies low his head; 

Death threw his fatal dart. 

He was the children's joy, 

And many a poem he wroug-ht 
For childish eyes to smile upon — 

And rich was he in thought. 
'Gene Field 1 that name shall live, 

"lis not for such to die, 
The world shall honor him who wrote 

For now and bve and bve. 
Though Field is dead, 
Though low his head, 

In state fore'er he'll lie. 



136 



MARY T. R El LEY. 



(1858-1878.) 

Thou poet of the Southern skies, 

On stepping-stones didst thou arise 

To higher thoughts and higher things. 

Thy genius, in its wanderings, 

Saw sights so grand, so sweet, so pure, 

So filled with light and love — a cure 

For every earthly ill and pain. 

Ah, wouldst thou not have won a fame! 

But thou wert not to bide here long, 

Thine was a short and tender song 

To linger in the hearts of men; 

Thou art still close and dear to them. 

The Southern winds blew through the trees 
And stirred the branches and the leaves; 
They whispered in thy listening ear 
And left a deep impression there. 
Thou wert awake to Nature's art, 
'Twas thou who felt her swelling heart. 
Thou didst not seek in life the shade, 
But lighted field and pleasant glade. 
The past, to thee, was full of cheer, 
How true of thee thy own lines here: 

"Out of the past a sweet strong wind 

Is blowing and blowing on, 
And my heart is wildly yearning 

For the joys of a day that is gone. 
It blows from a land of fragrance, 

It has kissed the roses abloom, 
But it dashes my cheeks with a rain of tears. 

137 



MARY T. REILEY. 

And wraps my spirit in gloom. 
For the fragrant land is haunted. 

Haunted its blooming bowers, 
Haunted the strong and sweet, sweet wind ? 

Haunted its swaying flowers/' 

Thy book came to my hands one day 

And took my lowly thoughts away. 

I read and read, and read again, 

I felt thy genius strongly then, 

I feel it now and ever shall; 

Thy book thy very heart-throbs tell. 

It seems that thou art speaking there, 

So free thy way, thy style so rare. 

It is fulfilled, what thou didst write — 

Thy wish, thy prayer has found the light: 

"I sigh no more for splendor, 

I am content with shade, 
Content to be sad and lonely 

Until the daylight fade, 

"If only out of the shadows 

Shall shine one burning star 
To gladden, not my pathway, 

But souls that faint afar. 

"If only when all is over 
Somewhere, in some sweet heart, 

A song of mine shall linger 
Not ever to depart." 

Note— Mary T. Reiley died in the glory and promise of her 
twentieth year, a victim of the yellow fever which desolated 
so many Southern homes in the summer and autumn of 1878. 
Said of her by a friend: "Thine was the poet's gift of song; 
thine, the noble and pure in girlhood, the strong and true in 
womanhood, the faithful and fearless in Christian love." 

138 



THE PHANTOM, ETC. 



The poet felt a thrill, a might, 

And lo, before his raptured sight 

A phantom beckoned, beckoned long-. 

And wrote in ink a wondrous song 

To move the hearts of toiling men. 

^'Tis thine, my friend," the phantom said, 

*Tt shall live here when thou art dead." 



$Tv\\ma\\cms Q>\ bmmoT^aW,^, 



Untutored childhood saw the signs 
Of life beyond this earthen sphere; 

The heavens, with their starry lines, 
Betokened well a Maker near. 

Yes, trustful childhood early knew 
That life shall live still on and on; 

This feeling lengthened, broadened, grew, 
The spirit lives when we are gone. 

The inner soul was stirred with thought, 
It felt e'erlasting everywhere; 

It was by Nature's wonders taught, 
Immortal mind is centered there, 

O wondrous Mind, Almighty God! 

Lead on my faltering steps to thee; 
Though earthly flesh rests 'neath the sod, 

The soul shall live, shall ever be. 

139 



REMINISCENCES. 



How sweet to think of what is past, 
When childhood frolicked in the sand, 

When form and thought and word were cast, 
When body, mind and soul began. 

Then up the scale of life and strength, 
Through babyhood, from child to man, 

Until we see full growth in length — 
Then further on to life's last span. 

The growth of mind, of thought, of will — 
The powers framed with untold might — 

Is slow and firm and grand, until 
The evils of the world invite 

Attention; these we must inspect, 
We make our bow to vice and sin, 

Till soul and body both reject 
The baser things which enter in. 

Temptation shows her luring face, 
And bids us crush pure Conscience keen: 

She shows us paths to hell, disgrace, 
To everything that's dark, obscene. 

The grinning fiend would lead us on 
To death and darkness evermore, 

But Virtue echoes, "Fiend, begone! 
I'll leave thee lying in thy gore." 

How many souls have followed him, 
The blackest fiend, to earthly hell, 

Till every good was crushed within, 
And Satan knew he held them well ! 

140 



FOR THEE. 

In contrast, see the righteous soul 
Cling closely to his Maker's hand; 

He sees on high a gleaming goal, 
And heaven's happy, peaceful band. 

Ah friends, is life to you a joy? 

Is earthly gold your only aim? 
Are passing pleasures, which annoy. 

Of any lasting wealth or gain? 

The eye of faith can look afar, 

Through heaven's close-encircling shrouds, 
And see where God's immortals are 

In far off space beyond the clouds. 



*5ot *3\\.fce. 



The heavens and their liquid lights 

Were made for thee, yea e'en for thee: 
Thy God, to whom thou bend'st the knee. 

Has made for thee those wondrous sights. 

Majestic forests sway and swing. 

They sway for thee, they swing for thee: 

Thy little body holds a key 
That gains admittance to a King. 

The rivers' waters rush and roar, 

They rush for thee, they roar for thee; 
And every lake and every sea 

Remain as thine forever more. 

The beaming sun e'en sheds his rays 
Throughout the universe for thee; 

141 



THE WORLD. 

The world and everything to be 
Were made for thee for endless days. 

Thy God sent Christ to die for thee, 
To die upon Mount Calvary's cross; 
His blood for thee has paid the cost 

Of sin; 'twas He who set thee free. 



*3\ve AOotU. 



Thou whirling globe, thou earthen sphere 
That dashes through the heavens broad, 
Obeying thy immortal God, 

Thou whirlest on from year to year. 

How great and grand, how nobly wrought! 

'Twas God who made thy every part, 

From outer rim to inner heart: — 
Ah man, how small thy little lot I 

This sphere is one, yes only one, 

'Mong many spheres of greater mold 
That swing in lakes of gleaming gold, 

And 'long their paths of glory run. 

The universe! Can we compute 

Its length and breadth, its height and depth? 

Nay, 'tis a secret only death 
Shall solve from height to deepest root. 

Astronomy has brought to man 
Some knowledge of yon liquid deep; 
He tries with telescope to reap 

The mysteries of the highest span. 

142 



THE WORLD. 

The gleaming stars, the laughing moon 
Peer down upon the earth below; 
All busy worlds, through space they go 

To have their lights expelled too soon. 

The radiant sun gleams in the east, 
And throws its beams of color far 
To where the realms of darkness are: 

Our eyes on such a sight can feast. 

All earth is bound in wondrous light, 
The mists of morn are brushed away, 
And fleecy clouds, in livery gay, 

Would shroud yon hill in garments white. 

Our pulses thrill at sights so grand, 
We look through space in vain to see 
Our Maker, who has caused to be 

These beauties, seen where'er we stand. 

Dame Nature, dressed in richer state 
Than nations' kings have ever been, 
Appeals to deeper thoughts within, 

And leads us to an Eden's gate. 

This world is filled with beauties rare, 
Some see them not, but pass them by: 
An occupied and worldly eye 

Sees not in life the bright and fair. 



143 



ORGANIC NATURE, ETC 



Organic nature lives to pass away, 
To bloom and flourish here but for a day. 
Environed well with that which gives it liie. 
It grows, expands, develops in the strife 
For food to feed the body, mind and soul; 
It forms a complex from a simple whole. 
Each generation, when its work is done, 
Lays down a life which seems but partly won; 
To dust of earth its body then returns 
To feed the soil for future living germs. 



Sq\Woc^ ©W ^Vve Dfcatti Q>\ 3V AQWAcat 



What, dead? It cannot be. 

Thou cunning brute, dost thou not move? 

Ah, there is blood upon thy lip, 

In eye, in nose, and on thy hip — 

Proud denizen of the forest wild, 

Reared here and bred e'er since a child. 

Cold, motionless, stiff and dumb: 

Thy cry on midnight air, once heard, is stilled 

The wavering death rattle broke the spell. 

The hunter's shot was aimed too well, 

His trusty gun stands by his side, 

His sheath-knife to his belt is tied. 

The hunter stoops, he smiles. 
Intelligence has won the day, 

144 



PRINCE. 

Brute cunning me t its foe half way, 
Dust is its only solace. 
The wildcat's hide is left the prize. 
Its body in yonder forest lies. 



Pnwce.. 



My honored friend, dear Prince, thou art, 

Thou hast a warm place in my heart. 

Those eyes of thine, so liquid, clear, 

So loving, tender, free from fear* 

Look up at mine, and silent, mute, — 

'Tis pity thou art canis, brute — 

Thou standest there. I speak a word, 

No sooner spoken than 'tis heard ; 

And presto, what a change I see ! 

Thy tail, from wonted silence free, 

Swings to and fro with joyful sweep ; 

And, looking in thine eyes, down deep, 

I see a gleam of mischief flare. 

What is it, Prince? Well, I declare ! 

Thy vocal chords, now strung in shape, 

Give forth a bark, a howl — you're great ! 

Come here, Black Prince, I'll stroke thy head. 

Thou art from noble species bred. 

Ah, what a work of love thou art ! 

W 7 ere friends, we two, at death to part. 



145 



WOMANHOOD. 
MDomaxvVvood, 



Womanhood can never fathom 

What her power is for good, 
She swings chaos into rhythm 

In a way that's understood. 
Jus't beyond the veil of heaven 

There is one who taught me this, 
And her life for others given 

Left a tender sacredness. 



Queen she was in mind and spirit, 

Regal over earthly woes ; 
In the home she placed love's sceptre, 

Where her sons to manhood rose. 
Blessed be her memory ever 

As we press on toward the goal, 
Where immortals ne'er dissever 

In God's kingdom of the soul. 



146 



MOTHER, 



1845; died JAN., 1894. 

Mother, when I think of thee, 

Heir of life that is to be ; 

Think of thee as living* on 

In the realms where thou hast gone, 

Sorrow cannot find her tears, 

Pain and doubt and all my fears 

Vanish down the passing" years. 

Life, I know, was dear and sweet, 
Loving friends thou here didst meet ; 
Four dear boys thy lips have pressed, 
Joy was e'er a welcome guest ; 
Plenty stood within the door, 
Peace there was in bounteous store : 
God provided as of yore. 

Years of pleasure thou didst see, 
Life was real to thee and me ; 
We were one in thought and aim. 
Spiritual blessings always came ; 
Love was always in the home, — 
Kept by Him, we did not roam 
Far astray from heaven's Dome. 

Four fast growing little ones, 
Proud to be their mother's sons. 
Filled the home with glee and light, 
Prattled in their mother's sight. 
Drove away her fears and cares : 
What was hers was also theirs — 
She knelt at the altar stairs. 

147 



MOTHER. 

Years passed by in quick review, 
Boyhood's life to manhood grew ; 
One was called by Him above, 
Taken in His arms of love, 
Lifted to those blissful heights 
Shining- with eternal lights ; 
Crowned was he with heaven's rites. 

Forrest, mother is with thee, 
She who taught thee at her knee ; 
She who braved this world alone — 
Such a life is seldom known. 
May her presence not depart 
From her own, but may each heart, 
Kindled, join and never part. 

O Thou Christ, the Father's Son, 
Make all clean whate'er we've done ; 
Make our lives as potter's clay, 
Knead them in Thy own, Thy way, 
Till their outlines, fine and clear, 
Warm the Artist's heart, and cheer 
All the hosts of heaven near. 

And, O Lord, we would just now 
At Thy throne with rapture bow, 
Bow these limbs which Thou hast made, 
Bow these forms which soon shall fade 
In the grave, with open jaws, 
To conform to His great laws : 
Heaven's Judges make no flaws. 

Death, grim Death, where is thy sting? 
Thou but sweeter life canst bring. 
Grave the victory cannot claim ; 
Heaven puts them both to shame. 
'Twas the Son who came to earth, 

. 148 



MOTHER. 

Suffered all ; His lowly birth 
Gave redemption not in dearth. 

Two small mounds look up unto 

The breaking- day, and grasp the dew 

In summer; but in winter's cold 

The whitest blanket is unrolled, 

To shelter earth in all its forms, 

Its death; and as the north wind storms 

He whispers love to him that mourns. 

Silent city, rear thy rocks, 
Each a precious name unlocks, 
Each a holy history tells, 
Each a silent parting spells. 
Ah, how sacred is yon sod ! 
"Tis a step from grave to God, 
But the other, oh how broad ! 

Dear mother, canst thou hear my cry, 
Thou blessed one, my own mind's eye? 
Thy teachings have too firm a hold 
To ever cool or leave their mold. 
How much thy life is twined in mine ! 
How much I see that still is thine 
In us, thy sons, parts of the vine ! 

In us, what thoughts thou didst instill! 
We drank, but did not get our fill. 
Glad are we for thy noble brow, 
We grasp its worth and glory now ; 
And we can sit, and think, and muse, 
And sail on Memory's mortal cruise, 
And see the past's delightful views. 

Ah, when I gazed upon thy bier 
And saw in death what was so dear, 

149 



.4 PLEA FOR GOOD ROADS. 

My mind reviewed a future scene 
When thou couldst on my shoulder lean 
And live in peace and "joy and rest ; 
When thou wouldst see of life the best. 
And to my own life give new zest. 

But life is such ; the unexpected 
Is ruled on high, by Him directed. 
Our finite minds cannot unfold 
The plan of life the heavens hold. 
We can but trust in the Divine, 
That all is well ; we'll not define 
His laws, nor will we them malign. 

A mother's influence guards my steps, 
A mother's love dwells in the depths 
Of heart and soul — seraphic flame ! 
Ah, mother, when my life shall drain 
Aw r ay to dust, I'll stay not here, 
But mount to bide with prophet, seer. 
And live with thee a Christ's career. 



3V YYea *5ot &00& Hoa&s. 



Four hundred years have blest our land 

With beauty, wealth and splendor, 
And graceful scenes, by Nature's hand, 

Are traced in outlines tender 
Upon the brow of mountain high, 

Likewise within the valley, 
While in our midst, plain to the eye, 

Each road is but an alley. 

150 



A PLEA FOR GOOD ROADS. 

CHORUS— 

Yankee Doodle, keep it up, 
The roads are mighty sandy, 

Teams get stuck most every day, 
Which is, we say, unhandy. 

Like Rome, who built her roads to last 

Forever down the ages, 
We'll lay them here: the dark, dim past 

Had builders who were sages. 
We'll do away with sand and dust 

And mud-bespattered hollows, 
Xo longer drive, as now we must, 

Where brute creation wallows. 

With all our progress through the years 

In thought and truth and learning, 
Good roads escaped our eyes and ears, 

Frog ponds are now returning. 
We fixed a street or two in town 

And spent a little money, 
Then salted every puddle down 

With stuff that stuck like honey. 

We do not want such roads as these 

For beauty and for travel, 
We want them paved and lined with trees. 

We've used enough of gravel. 
We'll get the steam road roller out 

And feed the hungry crusher, 
While for good roads we'll work and shout 

And this grand movement usher. 



151 



THE PEN 



Only a little piece of steel 

Art thou, O shining pen; 
Only a pointed piece of steel, 

But still thou servest men. 

Only we say not to degrade, 

For little things take part 
To mould our lives and to persuade 

The right to rule the heart. 

Only we say because we know 
How great has been thy mission; 

Though small, thy handiwork will show 
To all thy true position. 

We know what treasures thou hast placed 

Within the halls of learning; 
Thy steeled point with ink has traced 

Tn books grand thoughts so burning. 

Great minds through thee we have explored 
To feel their strong pulsations; 

Our souls on wings of thought have soared 
To higher revelations. 

Without thee, pen, our lives would be 

As low as savage races; • 
Communication is the key 

Which moves within our faces 

A potent change — a telling one — 

W 7 hich elevates and cleanses, 
Revealing what is to be won 

Through unused optic lenses. 

152 



FULL MANY A THOUGHT. 

Yes, pen, to thee we owe the light 
Which brought us education; 

Through thee, we're victors in the fight 
With darkest degradation. 

The p'en was mighty in the past, 

And so shall be its future; 
We know that it, from first to last, 

Shall be to man a teacher. 



HvW Ktaxv^ 3V ^\Youq\it 



Full many a thought on higher things 

Has fluttered through these halls, 
And upward soared on joyous wings 

To beat against hard walls. 
So many a thought within my heart 

Has beat and begged a hearing, 
Which caused my hand to upward start 

To pencil pocket steering. 

These little creatures must be heard, 

Although they cause much trouble. 
For quieting them would be absurd, 

With mischief they'd still bubble. 
And even when we close our eyes 

In peace betimes to slumber, 
We see them grow to mammoth size 

And find them without number. 

(Written in the former Methodist parsonage on Second 
street.) 



153 



THE ANGEL GUARDIAN. 



Twas midnight, calm, serene, reposeful; 
The starry heavens, through and through; 
Lay richly carpeted with blue; 

The moon rode high 

Above the eye, 
Its paleness lighting up the snow 
With an inhuman, ghostly glow; 

The silent mart, 

The weary heart 
Lay sleeping peacefully. 

The quiet street stretched to the west, 
And, like its sisters, lay at rest 
Save but for one who, dressed in white, 
Walked slowly at the dead of night 
Along the lonely way. Form tall, 
The figure ruddy, graceful; all 
The moldings of the features pure; 
The head surmounted by a sphere 
Of light; and downy wings displayed 
Showed who she was, this saintly maid: 
An angel, one of heaven's unseen, 
Who gazed upon the known, the seen, 
This mortal world below. 

The town clock lifted up its voice — 

Long-drawn vibrations, sweet and choice, 

Swelled through the midnight air away ; 

They fled away on lightning wings 

To crash into discordant things 

And die upon their unknown way. 

But one lone ear their sweetness heard, 

154 



THE ANGEL GUARDIAN. 

And, standing there, the angel bird 
Soon counted : one, two, three, four, five, 
Six, seven, eight, nine, ten, — note on note- 
Still on : eleven, twelve ; the brazen throat 
Its mutterings then ceased to give, 
And silence reigned again. 

The angel quickly turned about, 
And, looking up at a church spire, 

She onward went, until without 

The church doors — they her sweet desire. 

The latch was lifted, and the door 
Swung open ; saintly footsteps fell 

Upon the cold, frost-bitten floor — 

What angels walk there, who can tell ? 

Still up more steps the figure went, 
Another door was pushed aside ; 

And up the aisle, with pinions bent, 
The angel came with lowly stride, 

Down on her knees she meekly bowed, — 
The altar rose before her view — 

And prayed, u Oh, Father, men are proud, 
They know not what vile things they do. 

' 'Forgive them, Father, at this hour, 
Forgive their every sinful stain; 

And place within their souls the power 
To overcome Satanic bane. 

"The youth guide by Thy loving hand, 
Temptation's snares crush, overwhelm; 

Give youth to know and understand 
The blessings of thy heavenly realm. 

155 



THE ANGEL GUARDIAN. 

"Dear Father, bless Thy children here, 
And bless Thy church where'er 'tis found; 

And when Thy Son shall yet appear, 
May earth His praises long* resound." 

Up from her knees the angel stood, 
A soft light gleamed upon her face; 

A perfect picture of the good, 
She seemed down here quite out of place. 

Then silently adown the aisle 

She sped, with wings restrained from flight; 
Her features wore her Savior's smile, — 

Once more she stood in outer light. 

A moment on the steps atop 

She lingered, radiant from her prayer: 
A moment only did she stop, 

And then the space was vacant there. 

Up, up on beating wing she soared, 
Away toward heaven's distant blue; 

Up, up until her form; absorbed, 
Became a part of distant view. 

The morning's dawn began to break, 

And beams of light shot heavenward straight 

From eastern hill; horizon's line 

Began to glow and to entwine 

The separate rays of light together 

That they might act against the weather, 

Which, cold and still throughout the night. 

Left freezing everything in sight. 

The town clock struck the hour of seven, 

The sun rose 'tween the earth and heaven; 

The city, then awake with life, 

Began another day of strife 

And labor, man with man, 

156 



THE CLASS OF '94. 

It was a happy day, however; 
A spirit presence all day long 
Seemed humming- a delightful song; 

'Twas ever near 

To bless and cheer: 
Each toiling, weary one that heard 
The song, with tenderness was stirred. 

The angel voice 

Sang on, "Rejoice" — 
Sweet angel guardian! 



^Vi* Class Q>\ ^\. 



When the room is wrapped in silence, 

And we turn our eyes about, 
See the faces made familiar, 

Friends we could not do without, — 
How our minds begin to wander, 

Thinking of our past school years 
And the course that's almost finished, 

We can hardly quell our tears. 

But we hold sweet recollections, 

Thinking of our conquered past ; 
How we've toiled and fought with Reason 

Till her foes lay low at last ; 
How we've found the doors to knowledge, 

Hold the keys to each and all ; 
Swing them open, see the treasurers ! 

Gems of thought around us fall. 

Mind with mind — ah, what communion ! 

Mind it is and mind alone, 
Mind that makes us peers of others, 

157 



THE CLASS OF '94. 

Creatures made of flesh and bone. 
Rulers of our lower neighbors, 

Lords and masters of the world ! 
May we tread the path of progress, 

Ever keeping thought unfurled. 

We are not to live in silence 

'Mid the hosts in deadly strife ; 
We must up and lead Truth onward, 

Onward to the springs of life. 
Battled walls may bar our pathway, 

Shot and shell may thin our ranks, 
But our flag shall wave in triumph 

O'er Right's bloody, fissured banks. 

There stands Reason in her armor, 

Plated o'er with tempered steel, 
Holding lance, and shield with buckler, 

Foes at sight of her shall reel. 
Thousands hear her bugle ringing, 

Night and day resound with blows; 
Lance to lance, her foes borne downward 

Gasp and writhe in Death's last throes. 

Victor on the field of battle, 

Victor in the halls of state, 
Reason sits with open visor, 

Vassals at her word e'en quake. 
Distant lands bend low in homage, 

Kings and statesmen do her will; 
Mighty in her gems and treasure, 

They but help her coffers fill. 

May we uphold Reason's banner, 

Ours, the Class of '94, 
Hold a station we may honor 

Like the Macedons of yore; 

158 



THE CLASS OF '94. 

May we stand a solid phalanx, 

Victors on a hundred fields, 
Till our foes, before us yielding, 

Fall, and Fate her measure deals. 

Tn the hope that grasps the future, 

May we not forget our class; 
May we not forget its friendships 

When we face the world en masse. 
No. let each bear kind remembrance 

Of the others in our train, 
For a friend surpasses value, 

Is of wealth the greatest gain. 

Onward, onward, that is progress, 

Onward up the ladder's height! 
There the sun beams in his glory, 

Lighting noble brows of might. 
Fame may perish and its history 

Made by man may fall to dust, 
But his gems of thought can never 

Wear away in time, we trust. 

Class of '94, look forward, 

Look not back at what is done, 
For the goal lies not behind you, 

It lies toward the setting sun. 
Fleeting years shall note your labor 

In the field and on the road, 
Till you reach your destination 

Crowned, and nations sing thy ode. 

[Written shortly before our graduation from the Wausau 
High School.] 



159 



GRANDFATHER'S COAT. 



How dark are the days of our tears and bemoaning ! 

When loved unes have gone from this life evermore ! 
It seems as if sorrow is ever dethroning 

Our joys and our pleasures, which pass on before. 

When grandfather left us, his form torn and bleeding. 
We could not believe that his life's work was done ; 

But the note of decease in the papers, in reading, 
It told us that Death a new victim had won. 

In crossing a railroad, — a train was approaching — 
Dear grandfather thought he had plenty of time, 

But the on-coming monster, with hissing and puffing, 
Struck full in his back, breaking rib-bones and spine. 

Bis coat from the blow shows a force that was shocking, 
A large rent is left where the dreadful blow fell. 

How well I remember my heart was nigh breaking, 
In seeing the coat its own story could tell. 

W T hen mother received it, I could not help eying 
With awe that great rent in the sacred old cloth ; 

And in my young heart deeper thoughts began swelling, 
And to the old coat I my love did betroth. 

Twelve years have elapsed with the coat in our keeping, 

I cannot look now on it but to revere. 
Communion with anything tends to our making, 

And has much to do with our future career. 

Ah, that the grand thoughts of the world were reclining 
In minds where the seeds of corruption now dwell ! 

We know that a good thought, in sharpness denning, 
Is sufficient to cool e'en the fires of hell. 

160 



TOMORROW. ETC. 



Coming-, coming", always coming, 
Coming-, but is never here ; 

Never walking-, ever running-, 
Fleeing-, as it were, with fear. 



3\. &Vada\ TfteAA. 



(as pictured by my imagination.) 

An awful silence, broken now and then 

By splitting", rending- sounds, again, again. 

A crash! The sound by rolling thunders stirred, 

For many miles by listening ear is heard; 

Again unbroken silence holds the place, 

A gruesome stillness broods o'er earth in space. 

O scene sublime, a great God's handiwork. 

Where mortal eyes may view His mighty work; 

Where we may feel the grandeur of this life. 

And, gaining strength, go forth in worldly strife 

To form our weal or woe. our destinv, 

Immortal, changeless, life to ever be. 

The tons and tons of ice stretch far away 

In dazzling whiteness, in the distance gray; 

Wide, yawning fissures cut the rolling plain 

To add new terrors to the dizzy brain; 

And here and there huge boulders lie around. 

Old giants, torn from some far-distant ground. 

W T hose forms were chiseled by the moving ice. 

Relentless, cold, cemented slice on slice. 

161 



ONLY REMEMBERED BY WHAT WE HAVE DONE. 

A barren scene, this moving" glacial field, 
Where God's almighty power lies revealed, 
And where the human voice is seldom heard, 
The throb of moving life, the joyful bird. 
Forever desolate, O glacial field, art thou, 
Forever thou shalt be as thou art now. 



6tvV^ lUmembetedt lb\& A0\va\ AJDe ^£.a\)& "Dow*. 



Only remembered by what we have done, 

When the casket is laid away ; 
Achievements, successes, and victories won, 

Live on and forever hold sway. 

Only remembered by what we have done, 
Thus living on down through the years. 

A word, kindly spoken, has healed some heart broken, 
And joy has beamed out through the tears. 

Only remembered by what we have done, 
For the thoughts we have left to the world ; 

And they shall not die while bright reason is spry, 
And genius within it is curled. 

Only remembered by what we have done 

In the future when we are but clay ; 
The tombstone may crumble o'er tomb e'er so humble. 

But memory shall not decay. 

Work on then, be faithful, remember your mission, 

And spend time on labor begun, 
For down in the future you'll hold a position 

Remembered by what you have done. 

162 



A NEW YEAR'S GREETING. 
3V K.&\» Avar's SreeVuvq 



'Tis grand to hold within one's heart 

A new year aspiration, 
To turn the leaves of bygone days 

To learn their deviation 
From right and truth and higher law 

Then start with motives clear. 
That bygones may be bygones in 

This glorious New Year. 

We have our troubles and our cares, 

We have them as a nation, 
They are a part of the great plan 

Built up through the creation; 
But that man ought to go to jail 

Whose soul's so cramped and sere. 
He cannot grasp your hand and say. 

"A Happy, Sweet New Year!" 

It takes the bitter from our lives 

To wish all joy to others, 
We cannot sit alone and say, 

"We have no sisters, brothers." 
The wide world has a smile for you 

If you will soothe its sighing, 
So look around with joyful soul. 

All blues and aches defying. 

The year now gone is gone for good, 
But great have been its deeds. 

The crown of Nineteen Hundred One 
For purer living pleads, 

163 



BIG BULL FALLS BY MOONLIGHT. 

And Nineteen Hundred Two has come 

To join with us right here, 
In wishing all humanity 

"A Happy, Sweet New Year!" 



Tbv$ U>uY\ 'SaWs ^ ^CCootvU^, 



How well I remember 

One night in December, 
Twas midnight and stars shown above; 

The city lay sleeping, 

The waters were leaping, 
And were tinctured with white like the dove, 

The dark depths were hidden, 

And foam, like white ribbon, 
Rushed on in its rock-riven path; 

While logs, snags and branches, 

Like snow avalanches, 
Seemed ready to loosen with wrath. 

The moon, with beams magic, 

Seemed courting the tragic 
And mingled the light with the dark; 

Yet peaceful and gurgling 

The waters kept whirling, 
Remaining* at low-water mark. 

The railroad bridge, rising 

With grandeur surprising, 
Stretched gracefully over the way; 

With grayish abutments 

And iron adjustments, 
It seemed grace and might to convey. 

164 



WAUSAU. 

Away down the river. 

With ripple and quiver, 
The waters flowed on to the south; 

With glee they seemed laughing-. 

And rolling and splashing". 
On. on from the source to the mouth. 

And far up the river, 

The on-coming river. 
The piles rose from darkness to light; 

The watery glitter 

Stood still, then a shiver, 
And sped o'er the dam in mad flight. 

The city clock striking. 

In clear tones alighting. 
Rang midnight in listening ear. 

I turned and walked homeward, 

The waters, still onward, 
Their music gave forth sweet and clear. 



^JDaMsau. 



(seen from east hill.) 

Sweet city, lying sheltered by the hills, 

And spread in comely form within the vale, 
From thee has come the whir of many mills 

In days when pine, it seemed, would never fail. 
But years have left their havoc 'mong the trees. 

Which one time stretched unbroken to the north 
And woodsman's axe and saw bore on the breeze 

Their monotone of sound, and deeper forth 
Went on their way, till now we see broad sweep 

165 



WAUSAU. 

Of farm land, rich each year with golden grain. 
And new and lasting- industries, which keep 

A larger population's brawn and brain. 
The broad Wisconse, which from the early years 

Has freighted logs and lumber toward the south, 
Now glistens with the sunlight, and appears ■ 

Almost unbroken from its source to mouth. 
A newer city now delights our eyes — 

The dream and hope of early pioneer — 
And on all sides her cozy homes arise 

To tell of beauty, comfort, wealth and cheer. 
Her tall church spires point up into the blue, 

And tell of love for morals and for law, 
While her fine Club House speaks of pleasure too, 

Since business men have learned to stoop, to draw 
From fortunes that which they will never miss, 

But means so much for future growth and good. 
Hai] to the future of sweet Wausau, Wis., 

The leading spirit of the northern wood! 



THE END. 



JUN 14 1* 



1902 

IN. 14 1*ftl 






